


The Enchanted Spring

by floranocturna



Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Elf, Elves, F/M, Fantasy, Folklore, Magic, Magical Creatures, Revenge, Romance, Romantasy, Sacrifice, Slow Build, Slow Romance, elves are beautiful but dangerous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floranocturna/pseuds/floranocturna
Summary: The realm of the elves is kept safe by a powerful enchantment. Every 40 years it must be renewed through a cruel sacrifice. When Andor, an elf both young and ruthless, is chosen for this mission, he is eager to prove his worth. But then rumours of a dark secret arise, and Andor’s life changes forever. The truth is not what it seems as he uncovers a web of lies where he had least expected it. Loyalties are questioned and friendships tested. But the evil runs deep and it will take more than bravery to overcome this ancient threat and Andor must face his worst fears to protect what he loves the most.-----All characters as well as the plot are my own! Do NOT steal my work!





	1. Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This is my considerably darker twist on the elves, ever alluring as they are elusive. And yes, Tolkien is my hero as you can guess by the quote, although this story is not based on the elves of Middle-earth, but rather the way these magical beings are perceived in folk tales and legends, more dangerous and less wise, to say it again in Tolkien's words. Elements of the fae world have also found their way into this tale. It revolves around the tension between elves and humans, but also the eternal forces of love and hate, the desire for power and revenge.  
> Thank you folks for reading and if you have enjoyed it, kudos and nice comments are very welcome :D

_A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities._

(J.R.R. Tolkien)

His hair was jet black like the night, flowing loosely around his shoulders and almost reaching his waist. It swayed softly as he treaded with light and silent steps over moss and roots. Amber eyes like molten gold, sharp features with high cheekbones, sensuous lips and a determined jawline made him appear both beautiful and ruthless. The dark brown tunic he wore blended with the autumn foliage and a bow and quiver were slung around his back. He wore no shoes, his feet used to the roughness of stones and the wetness of the earth alike. As he flitted in between the tall pillars of the endlessly repeating rows of trees he might have appeared a volatile ghost to the unaware wanderer.

But no one wandered into the woods. People said they were haunted, haunted by evil spirits and guarded by the Elves, who suffered no humans in their lands. The few that had dared to enter had never made it back alive and no one ever knew of their fate. 

And he would make sure that it stayed that way. 

A fleeting smile darted across the face of the elf as he strode along gracefully, his hands stroking the stems of lithe birches that gleamed in a dull white light as he passed them. They were healthy and strong, and they were his favourite. He loved the smooth surface of their bark and admired their resilience despite their slender appearance. He lingered for a moment in between the trunks, the delicate branches swaying softly above his head, the everlasting melody of the rustling leaves the most beautiful song to him. But he could not linger. He had a task to fulfil. The fate of the forest depended on it.

At first he had been hesitant when they had selected him for this mission, after all he was only a young elf of a mere five hundred and ten years and he had no experience in such grave matters. But it was not up to him to question the decision of the elders. They would know what was best for them and their lands. He had humbly accepted and sworn to do his best and then they had sent him on his way, the only advice being: “Do not fail us.”

He tore his eyes away from the trees and geared his steps towards the darker part of the woods, overhanging branches heavily laden with leaves in the bright colours of fall marking the entrance to the heart of the forest. Gnarled oak trees that were as old as the world itself guarded the pathway, their barks resembling the skin of ancient reptiles as they gleamed grey in the twilight. He felt a certain heaviness in his heart as he entered the path, the fate of his people a burden on his shoulders, a burden he had not asked to carry. He looked up into the canopy above and the thick branches and spindly twigs hid what was left of the dreary autumn sky from view, enveloping him in a greyish gloominess that threatened to creep under his skin. But he would not falter now, he was determined to see this through.

Thick undergrowth as well as giant ferns lined his path and stout beeches joined the oaks and birches, ivy and lichen crawling like serpents around their trunks. The buzzing of moths that preferred the darkness over the light filled the air and they swarmed around him, curious as to what might have led this elf so deep into their territory. Although it was not uncommon for his kin to venture all over these lands—  after all this was their home —, the heart of it was a place even they only rarely set foot in. Only in times of great need or when it was necessary to make sure their magic would be renewed they came to this sacred place. 

He could feel his heart beating like a drum as the excitement grew together with the far away murmuring that weaved itself into the song of the trees. He knew that he was getting closer. Although he had never been to where they were sending him, he felt it in his blood and he only needed to follow the pull inside him. Light footed and swift his steps led him ever deeper along the winding pathway until the thickets around him closed in more and more and he had to cut through the dense vegetation with his bare hands. He pushed the branches aside, the gurgling sound of a nearby river more prominent with every step he took. Faster and faster he sped on as if the water would call to him, making him pick up his pace with its lamenting melody.

And then it lay before him: a small glade in the midst of the forest, untouched by the passing of the seasons. The grass was fresh and lush as after a spring rain, dotted with countless flowers in pearly white, a mild breeze ruffling through the sea of green and white. Oaks, beeches and birches stood around it like tall sentinels and in the middle, nearly hidden in between boulders overgrown with moss, was a small spring, the water purling over the greenish surface with perpetually renewing strength. A natural pool beneath it collected the water, before it made its way as a young stream through the forest and as a wide river into the lands beyond.

He stood for a moment mesmerised by the beauty of this place, eternal and everlasting. This was the heart of the forest and the heart of their lives. If it ever withered so would they. And he would not allow that to happen. That is why he had come here.

The elf pulled out a small phial of glass from his pockets and filled it with water from the fountain,  adding a pinch of golden powder to it that made it briefly glow bright red until it returned to its crystal clear colour. Sealing it tightly shut he stored it away again in his tunic. He retreated from the fountain, walking back towards the ring of trees to sit down beneath the low lying branches of a massive oak. He took off his bow, leaning it against the tree trunk and placed the quiver beside it. Now it was time to wait. For how long he did not know, but he knew that it would be soon. He only needed to be patient. They always came.

 


	2. The Heart of the Forest

There was a rustling in the leaves when a small and slender figure emerged from the thicket on the other side of the glade. It was as if the forest itself had made way for the person, granting entrance that would otherwise be denied.

He sat up in his hideout, his curiosity stirred up. It was a woman, that much was clear, despite the fact that she wore her blonde and wavy hair only at chin’s length. Her blue trousers and the black oversized shirt were as foreign to him as were her rugged shoes and the brown bag she wore across her torso. She seemed to be hopelessly lost and was looking around in rising panic. He decided to wait another moment before he would make his move. Her gaze wandered around aimlessly until she discovered the fountain and made her way towards the boulders. She dropped her purse on the ground and bent down to drink from it.

“Don’t drink from that fountain! It might be enchanted,” he called out to her. She spun around, her eyes wide and it was clear that she was torn in between trying to run and calling for help.

“W—what? Who are you? Don’t get any closer or I’ll yell!” she said, her voice wavering.

“Do not fear me,” he said, slowly emerging from under the branches and holding his hands up to show that he was unarmed. “But tell me first, who are you? What is your name and what brings you here?” He put on a nonchalant smile as he approached her.

She eyed him suspiciously, her mind obviously trying to make sense of his appearance, but she must have decided that it was probably best to stay friendly.

“My name is Rose and I have been hiking in this forest, but I guess I must have taken a wrong turn and then I ended up here. I am sorry if I have intruded your territory. Maybe if you could point me towards the right path?”

She had given him her name. And her heart would follow.

“Rose,” he said in a melodic tone that would weave itself around her like a golden but sticky net. “I could if I wanted to.” 

She shifted around uncomfortably, her hands holding on to the boulders behind her for support, but no words left her lips as his magic began taking its effect on her. He stood now directly in front of her and he noticed how small and fragile she was in comparison to him. She barely reached his shoulders. It would be easy for him to overpower her. But that was not his plan. It did not work this way. 

“Or do you wish to be enchanted?” he asked, locking eyes with her.

She stood frozen to the spot, unable to move, staring into his face as if she had been hypnotised.

“W—what? No, I only wish to find my way out again,” she said, but her eyes betrayed her words.

She looked at him with both fear and a hidden gleam of excitement. It would not be long for her to accept his offer. 

“Do not be afraid of me,” he said softly as he reached out for her hands. “I know what people say. The woods are haunted and evil spirits do live within. But tell me, do I look like an evil spirit to you?” 

She tried to pull her hands away from him, but his grip was strong and her resistance was beginning to melt away. 

“N— no, but how am I to know if you are telling the truth?” she said. He could sense that she was struggling to keep her mind focused.

He tilted his head towards her, his hair cascading over his shoulders and onto her chest like supple waves of ebony. “Have you never dreamt of running away into the forest? Have you never felt the desire to meet those that guard these woods? Be like them?”

She stared up to him slightly confused. “How could I be like them? I am a human and that will never change.”

“How can you be so sure of that? I see it in your eyes what you wish for.” He leaned down, his face now barely an inch from hers. “You want to be with me.” 

His last words were just a whisper, but he knew that she had heard him loud and clear. Her lips were so close that he could even feel her breath, peculiar and strange, but somehow alluring. It might be nice to kiss her, he thought to himself, before it was all over.

“But—, how do you know?” she stuttered, suddenly flustered.

“I know, because I am one of the guardians of this forest. I can feel what pulls you here.” He took her chin in his hands and brought his lips to hover above hers. She did not move away. Her sky blue eyes now spoke less of fear than of a longing. This was the moment.

He slanted his lips over hers and kissed her. She melted into the softness of his touch and kissed him back with a hunger that he had not expected from her. She tasted of honey and for a fleeting moment he nearly forgot his duty. He broke the kiss just in time to make her crave for more and before he would lose himself.

“Now,” he said and held her face in his hands. “If you want this,” he teased her with another ghostly kiss that lingered on her trembling lips just for a moment, “you can have it.”

Her eyes were dazed and her cheeks flushed and she only said: “More.”

He smiled and pulled the phial from his pocket. “If you drink this,” he said, holding up the crystal clear liquid, “you can stay in the forest forever.”

She narrowed her eyes, a lingering doubt trying to break through the web he had woven around her: “But what is the price? There is nothing that comes for free.”

“Do you not wish for eternal life?” he said. “What you must pay is a small price. To give up your human form is what you must do.”

Her hands extended towards the phial, but he held it out of her reach and then closed his hands again around it. He saw the hesitance in her eyes, but also the longing and the desire he had instilled in her. 

“What do you say? If you accept my offer all this will be yours,” he said with a sweeping gesture around the glade. “I will eternally be yours,” he added in a low voice. “But you must decide now or the moment will be gone forever.”

She looked up to him again, her blonde locks slightly disarrayed, but her glazed look told him that she was under his spell already.

“Yes,” she breathed, the word leaving her mouth almost out of its own accord.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he unplugged the phial and handed it to her.

“You must drink it all at once for the magic to work. Do not stop and do not hesitate. Do you understand, Rose?” When he said her name he reached right into the core of her very existence. And there it was, her heart, fluttering like a little bird and ready for him to take it.

“I do,” she said, her voice now drowsy as her fingers closed around the small crystal bottle.

 


	3. The White Flower

The instant the glass touched her lips he took a step back from her, watching her intently as she downed the whole liquid at once. Now everything should be swift and his task here would be done soon. The moment she had finished she dropped the phial and her expression changed from surprise to anxiousness and then pure terror dawned on her face. She flailed her arms helplessly as the liquid burned through her veins and when she reached out for him in surging horror he retreated from her, his voice now stern. 

“Do not touch me, human!”

“Please, help me,” she whimpered, “I’m burning up, my insides are melting away.” She staggered backwards and lost her balance, collapsing on to her knees, her hands now on her throat, a suffocating sound escaping her contorted lips.

“This is what you have asked for: to be one with the forest. It is the price you must pay.”

He looked at her with a cold gleam in his eyes, observing her like a predator assesses his prey as she gradually lost her life and her soul to the forest. She was on all fours and convulsions shook her, she begged and she cried: “Please, have mercy! You said t—that I was to give up my human form.” Her breath came now ragged. “Y—you didn’t say that you would kill me.”

“I am not killing you. I am just giving you what you wanted.”

“No, no,” she whined, struggling against the overpowering force that had taken possession of her. “This is not what I wanted.” Her arms and knees gave in and she slumped to the ground, a whimpering mess in the midst of the grass and the flowers. 

“You humans are so easily convinced,” he said with disdain. “Offer them eternal life and they leave all reasoning behind.” 

“Please, make it stop.” The contours of her body began to fade away, the features of her face disappearing until it seemed like a blank canvas that would soon be transparent and cease to exist altogether. Silent sobs were the only thing now heard from her mouth.

“I cannot stop this. You will be part of the forest from now on until the end of all times.” 

He crossed his arms in front of his body, waiting impassively until her transformation would be complete. The air around him filled with light and the soft murmuring from within the branches rose into a powerful song until the glade seemed to glow with the light of a thousand suns, so bright even he had to avert his eyes for a moment. 

It lasted only for a second and when he looked at the place where she had been a dense mist pooled on the ground and in her stead another white flower had sprung into life. He glanced at the fresh bud with a smile on his lips and when he ran his fingers over the soft petals, still curled up like a tiny orb, he said: “You are beautiful, Rose.”

 

His work here was done. He turned around to pick up his bow and quiver filled with arrows as well as the empty phial, the glade behind him peaceful and serene, innumerable white flowers scattered on the green rug gleaming like pearls in the late afternoon sun. A new one had joined their ever growing crowd so the forest could endure and his people might have peace for another forty years. With one last glance he bade her good-bye. He had not given her his name or else she might have taken his heart. He had not failed his people and he did not look back again. 

 

floranocturna, January 2018


	4. Discord and Friendship

The rush of adrenaline was exhilarating. He was on fire, his blood pumping like a roaring river through his veins and his heart brimming over with pride and joy. The corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. He had done it! And it had been a perfect transformation! A mischievous glint was in his eyes, just like a cat that had hunted down a mouse, taking as much delight in toying with its prey as in finishing it off. He was a hunter after all, and a successful and merciless one too.

All the tension and pressure that had built up before slipped now from his body. He was gliding along effortlessly, his feet barely making contact with the ground as he darted through the thickets. His mind floated in a golden bubble, the bustling forest river accompanying his every step with its incessant murmuring. The sun hung low in the invisible sky above and only an occasional ray managed to poke its golden tip through the dense wall of trees all huddled together. Now that he was leaving the everlasting spring behind, the nearing chill of dusk rose from the damp ground, bathing the woods in the eerie twilight that preceded the thick blackness of night. The moss was soaked with the wetness of the nearby stream and refreshingly soft beneath his toes. His hands grazed leisurely along the lush ferns and he took delight in allowing their leaves to glide through his slender fingers as he passed them. A nearly impenetrable curtain of ivy spanned along the overhanging branches and the daylight’s irregular flickering in between them danced before his eyes and suddenly the outline of a face with blue eyes like the summer sky seemed to emerge from within the veil of light and shadow. He turned his gaze away, focussing on the path that lay ahead of him instead, but something was beginning to change. 

The lustre was wearing off, the glorious feeling inside him gradually losing its sparkle. It was a subtle shift, barely noticeable at first, like a note in a melody that was slightly off. But as much as he tried to ignore the dissonance, once it had taken a hold inside of him, it would not be silenced anymore. He cut through the bushes with increased determination, the bristly branches blocking his path in an unusually stubborn fashion as if they would want to keep him from getting too far too soon. 

The magnitude of his deed and the whole extent of the recent events began to gradually sink in and no matter how much he sought to pull up a dam around him, the discord dripped into his heart. Ever so slowly and like a sneaking shadow the black ink of doubt stained the clean canvas of his conscience. The smile froze on his face and there was a stutter in the smoothness of his motions. His steps, always so light and graceful, suddenly had a leaden heaviness to them that was slowing him down. His shoulders sank beneath an invisible weight and it seemed to him that a black void was chasing after him. He sought to increase his pace, trying to put as much distance in between the glade and himself as possible, but the pathways were never ending and more crooked than ever. Breathing heavily he finally leaned against a wide beech, the lichen crawling around its trunk a welcome pillow for his spinning head. 

He had been so foolish! He should have known better than to just assume that he would come out of this unchanged. There should not be a doubt about the rightfulness of his actions, after all it was what his people always had done for ages, and it was the only thing that would keep them safe from the humans that were ever eager to venture where they did not belong. For a moment he feared that his heart might burst inside his chest, an unknown anxiousness threatening to suffocate him and he slid lower, slumping to the ground, dejected and glum. He dropped the bow and the quiver beside him and stared up into the roof of leaves above, their restless rustle like a reproachful lament in his ears. 

“I did what I have been asked to do,” he said more to himself than to anyone else. “She is gone. The girl is gone.” 

He rubbed his forehead, a vain effort to remove the images that had burned themselves into his mind. “Rose,” he whispered, as if saying her name would liberate him from the feeling of guilt that closed like an iron vice around his heart. “I am sorry that I had to do this.” 

But her face, the frightened stare, would not just fade away like he had made her body disappear. Those blue eyes had looked at him with utter fear and he had done nothing. And then there was the sweetness of her lips, so soft and delicate against his own! Without pity he had taken her heart. A heart that was not a gift but an unwanted burden which would haunt him forever like a vengeful ghost.

No, he had not been prepared for this; not at all. He had done what was his duty, but he had not thought about the consequences of his actions. He had heard about what had happened to other elves before him, especially those that had failed and he had sworn to himself that he would be different, strong and unmoved by the sacrifice he was meant to perform. And what was he doing now? Whining and allowing his unbridled emotions to get the better of him. He was a warrior after all and one with a flawless record. He wasn’t going to spoil this now by giving in to this sudden surge of empathy for a human he barely knew.

With a frustrated sigh he rose again, the air beginning to cool as the evening approached. He could not linger any longer or the elders might turn to think that he had failed his task. Picking up his bow and his quiver he scolded himself for his weakness. She was only a means to an end. She meant nothing to him, but her sacrifice was everything to them. 

He shook off the languor that had taken hold of him and forced himself to focus on making his way back. His pace was swifter now the further he distanced himself from the clearing and soon he treaded the comfortable path that wound itself towards his home, the fluttering of birds and polyphonic humming of animals big and small emerging from the undergrowth and welcoming him with their soothing sounds. 

 

“Andor!” A familiar voice stirred him from his gloomy thoughts. “Where is your mind at? Did everything go well?” 

Concern mixed itself now into the soft female voice and when Andor lifted his gaze he knew what would come into sight. It was a pair of beautiful almond shaped dark brown eyes that belonged to an elf named Elia and he had grown very fond of them over the hundreds of years of their friendship. She had been his trusted companion through many adventures and countless times they had hatched quite the forbidden plans, breaking more rules than what was good for them. But that was in the past. Now they were both considered adults and it was expected of them to face their responsibilities and Elia as the slightly older one had felt compelled to make sure that Andor would not falter on his chosen path.

She was leaning casually against the trunk of a giant oak that concealed the entrance to their secret realm that extended deep into the bellies of the earth and spanned the entire territory of the forest. It was where the Elves had found a safe haven in the perpetually changing world around them. Elia was nearly as tall as he himself and wore her sleek raven hair open like it was their custom except for two small braids on either side which she tied in the back of her head, adorning it with a flower according to the change of seasons. A light brown tunic much like his own served as a garment that was both practical and comfortable. She carried a bow and a quiver as well as a pair of knives, stowed away safely in her belt, her appearance leaving no doubt that she was a skilled fighter with no hesitation to use her weapons should the need arise. Her sharp features and stern brows somehow bestowed upon her the look of a predator bird. But what he adored most of her was the unexpected way her cheeks grew round when she smiled, which apparently now was not going to happen anytime soon.

“So, are you going to talk to me or what?” She frowned and suddenly there was a hardened look in her eyes: “Oh, so she was pretty then, I see. Don’t tell me you kissed her!” she huffed and cocked her head sideways. She had made no secret of the fact that she had disapproved of his choice to accept this mission, but Andor had been eager to prove himself worthy, too eager in her opinion, and he wouldn’t hear of her concerns. ‘You will come back a changed elf,’ she had said to him, a dark premonition in her heart. ‘I have seen it. And so have you.’ He remembered very well her angry posture, her arms akimbo and the fearful gleam in her dark eyes.

“So, answer me! Or did she steal your voice?” Her insistent interrogation finally drew him out. 

“Yes, I kissed her,” he admitted reluctantly, knowing that this might only fuel her lingering anger. She raised her eyebrows in curiosity: “And? Have you nothing to say about it? How was it?”

He only shrugged and said: “It was different. That’s all.” He knew that whatever he said would be eventually held against him, so he just decided to go with the truth, well, at least a version of the truth. And then he fixed her with an unusually cold glare. “I do not wish to speak about it, so stop asking!”

“Fine,” she pouted, but decided to indeed stop her bickering. “Then, where are you heading to now?” she asked, changing her tone to a friendlier one.

“You know that I have to report back,” he said, slightly more at ease now that he wasn’t obliged to speak about what tormented him inside.

“Can I come with you?” A propitiatory smile spread on her face.

“I know you will come along anyway, no matter what I say, isn’t it so?” he said, a small grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

“You know me well,” she said and then she laid her hand on the tree, the bark melting beneath her touch as if it were liquid and revealing a wide opening, big enough for a grown person to pass through.

“After you then, my mighty but slightly grumpy warrior,” she said with a smirk, stepping aside and allowing him to go first.

With a sigh he stepped through and Elia followed him, the portal changing back into the seemingly innocuous bark as soon as their two silhouettes had disappeared inside.

 


	5. A Warm Welcome

A busy rush of elves moving about and a myriad of voices greeted Andor and Elia upon their arrival. The whole realm seemed to be on their feet, expecting with anxiousness the return of what they hoped would be their hero. The vast expanse of their underground home lay now hidden in the twilight of the early evening, but of course Andor did not need his eyes to see what he knew like the back of his hand. The unaware visitor would have been truly amazed at the fact that it was nothing like a damp and dark hole or a stuffy cave, which one might have expected to see, but much more like a lofty place of ethereal beauty where magic lay heavy in the air. Their world, the Realm of Elysse, was a perfect image of the upper world, the sun, moon and stars illuminating the enchanted dome just like they did above. Nature changed with the passing of the seasons, the colourful raiment of autumn now clothing everything in muted shades of ochre and terracotta. This dense forest with its majestic trees, tall and strong, their treetops hidden in the descending darkness, was where many of his kin had made homes for themselves, although there were some that had taken a liking to building houses and huts on the forest floor. These wooden houses with a simple beauty were scattered throughout the forest and in some clearings they stood huddled together in small clusters. Lively markets blossomed in those villages, for the elves were very skilled in many crafts and delighted in trading their own creations for other beautiful things. Andor himself had spent his childhood in one of those busy villages and had only recently taken to prefer the solitude of the trees, which were more lofty and less crowded. He could not tell why it had pulled him away, but an undefined heaviness had taken hold of his heart, which seemed easier to bear in loneliness than in company.

A river ran through the forest from the North, cutting through the centre of it, meandering leisurely through the dense vegetation until it decided to abruptly curve westwards, as if it wished to leave the forest behind on the fastest route. The elves called it Oros and in the days of autumn it gleamed like liquid amber beneath the golden canopy of the trees. Although the elves might not be a people very much drawn to the waters, they had learned how to use its powers and gifts to their advantage long ago. They had built barges and rafts to navigate it and they had come to value the fish that populated the river in abundance as a welcome variety on their menu. Beyond the borders of the woods lay the grasslands, the Plains of Ardan, so wide they appeared like a sea of green when the spring breeze flitted across the endless expanse. They stretched far towards the South and were their main hunting grounds after the woods themselves. It was there where Andor had spent a good many summers of his adolescence roaming around with his best friends, far away from the ever observant eyes of his foster-parents. Jagged and bleak loomed the Mountains of Kendar, which clung like an iron band to the forest, the high ridges in the North sloping gradually towards the West, not quite wanting to be separated from the dense greenery. The elves were not overly fond of those grey peaks that remained veiled in ominous clouds for most of the time, as if they had some dark secret to hide, and strange creatures were said to lurk in a net of caves underneath. It was a region that could turn from friendly to hostile in the blink of an eye and only very brave or very foolish souls ever ventured alone into those unforgiving heights. Some adventurous ones though have dared to explore the lands westwards, crossing the lower mountain passes, and way beyond where the fabled Emerald Sea murmured in an ever seductive tune of foreign lands that only a few had seen with their own eyes. As if the mountains were not intimidating enough, the Marshes of Tharûn in the East were a place most of his people gave a wide berth. Although the elves, due to their sharpened senses, could navigate the swamps with relative ease, they found them rather daunting, for there was a sadness emanating from their muddled brown bogs which was said to capture the souls of those passing through, turning them into dark and twisted reflections of themselves. They also called them Swamps of Sadness, but only in hushed voices, for fear of being laughed at as fearful or superstitious.

Still, sometimes one could not be entirely sure of the location of any of those places, as the forest itself turned ever so slowly like a giant cartwheel in the midst of its more or less hostile surroundings. It was another powerful enchantment to ensure the safety of their woods, which had been in effect since as long as Andor could remember, throwing the unaware intruder off course with an ease that he found quite satisfying.

 

But at this very moment Andor was not concerned about what lay beyond the woods and a smile softened his angular features when a spindly flaxen haired boy of about half his own size broke through the crowd, waving his arms excitedly and shouting at the top of his lungs: “Andor! Andor! You are back!”

He ran up to Andor, his child sized bow slung around his back bouncing with every step, almost tripping over his own feet, and then he wrapped his skinny arms tightly around the bigger elf’s waist. Andor closed his own arms around the small shape, stroking the little boy’s hair with one hand.

“Of course I am back Tin. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Some don’t come back,” was the muffled answer as Tin buried his nose in Andor’s tunic as if he wanted to make sure that it was really him and not a ghost.

“Well, I did and I am quite all right,” Andor said with slight amusement at the boy’s display of affection. “I would never abandon my little brother now, would I?” he teased Tin, who apparently had to gather all his strength not to cry in front of the older elves.

“Someone is happy to see you,” said Elia, who had observed the warm welcome with a growing smile on her face. To Andor’s relief she seemed to have forgotten her earlier sour mood and she even gave him a friendly wink. “I see some more coming our way,” she whispered, pointing her chin towards the left side of the crowd and Andor’s gaze was drawn to two familiar faces approaching them.

“We tried to hold him back, but you know how attached he is to you,” called an athletic, chestnut-haired elf, waving his hand in an apologetic gesture as he dug his way from the sidelines towards Andor. He was dressed in a similar fashion as Andor, his dark green tunic tight across his broad chest. He seemed to have come directly from a hunt, his quiver nearly empty and two fine specimens of pheasants dangling over his shoulder. He reached for the belt of the boy’s tunic to separate him from Andor, but Tin seemed intent on having it his own way.

“Let him be, Bergil. I don’t mind,” Andor said and then Bergil let go of the boy and patted Andor on the shoulder instead, giving him an appreciative nod.

“I am glad to see you well, my friend,” Bergil said and then the elf who had been following him closely behind chimed in “You must tell us everything about it,” pointing a finger at Andor and adding in a conspiratorial tone “and no skipping of the interesting details! I know that you like to keep the best to yourself, but I don’t want to worm out everything from you!”

This elf was of slightly slimmer build than Bergil, but no less tall, and more graceful in his movements, his auburn hair cascading in thick strands down to the middle of his back. His bright green eyes were alight with anticipation, his good-natured face brimming with barely contained delight. Bergil shot him a reprimanding glance when he came to stand beside them. “Caladon, this is not the moment for your sensationalist needs. Andor just got back and the Council is expecting him. We will get our chance later, isn’t that so?” he asked Andor, his eyebrows raised expectantly and holding up the pheasants in an inviting gesture.

Andor nodded slowly, his jaw tight, and as much as he was glad to see his friends, he was not really looking forward to having to divulge every single detail of his deed. He knew that he was supposed to feel proud, but he couldn’t, all he could feel was tainted. His gaze travelled for a moment to the other side of the crowd. There were not only favourable faces among the onlookers. Andor knew well enough that some of the older elves from renowned families had decidedly felt snubbed by the fact that he had been chosen for this mission. In their eyes he was too young and inexperienced and above all of obscure parentage, and although they might not have voiced it openly, some had clearly been expecting him to fail. Even now that he had come back in what was obviously a triumphant return, he could feel the lingering resentment in their eyes. But he did not wish to spoil this moment for himself, as he had enough to battle with his own demons. He did not need to add the poison of their envy to his concoction of guilt.

“Was she beautiful?” Tin suddenly piped up and when the boy’s clear grey eyes met his own, a bittersweet smile quirked around the corners of Andor’s mouth and he only said: “Yes.”

“You mustn’t linger any longer, Andor,” Elia’s determined voice tore him from his thoughts that were drifting once again to Rose. He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath and only when she nudged him in the side and cocked her eyebrows at him, did he finally move and free himself from his little brother’s tight grip.

“Yes, yes, I am well aware of that. No need to be impatient. The elders will learn soon enough.” But despite his reluctance to present his report, he knew that Elia was right as per usual, and so he bade them all farewell in hopes of getting this over with as fast as possible. He wished for nothing more than to return to the solitude of his home, so he could sleep to forget.

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I needed to do a little bit of world building in this chapter, just to let you see the place Andor calls his home. I might include a map for all the regions of the Realm of Elysse, but I still need to draw it *ahem*. If you are familiar with the book “The Neverending Story” by Michael Ende, you’ll see that I drew some inspiration from his fabulously fantastical world Fantasia. This book was one of my childhood favourites and you should definitely read it if you haven’t done so (the original is in German and it’s called “Die Unendliche Geschichte”).
> 
> Also, say hello to a bunch of new characters, after all Andor and Elia are not the only living creatures in their forest ;). It’s nice to know that he has some good friends, and even a little brother, who loves him to pieces, then there are those who do not trust him. I see conflicts dawning on the horizon…
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter, which will take Andor to the Council ^^!


	6. An Icy Encounter

Andor set off with quiet determination, turning his back to the crowd, which had begun to disperse, once everyone had assured themselves that he had indeed returned unharmed, the forest resuming its polyphonic humming. He looked back only once and a feeling of contentment settled in his chest at the sight of Elia wrapping an arm around Tin as she led him away, Caladon and Bergil flanking them on either side, excited chatter and the low rumble of laughter accompanying them as they went. Their voices trailed off and were swallowed by the twilight just like the pheasants dangling from Bergil’s shoulders. Andor smiled quietly to himself. They were safe, no worries on their minds except for how to best season and roast those delicious birds. Safe, because the elders had decided to put Elysse’s fate in his hands and he had, of course, not refused. He had done it for them, his friends, his family, his little brother. Still it was not enough to neutralise the bitter aftertaste that coiled in his stomach like a poisonous snake. Pushing the unnerving images of Rose to the back of his mind, he tried not to let the nervousness of what lay ahead get the better of him. 

He would need to pick up his speed if he wanted to reach his destination on time, for even at his quick pace he was still more than an hour away from the city of Valantes, the realm’s capital. It was the only settlement large enough to merit this title for all other dwellings were mere villages. Valantes lay in the very centre of the forest, snugly nestled around a majestic oak, called Atunar, the Ancient One, and it not only held the Council, but also the King’s Court, the library of Elysse, lively markets, armouries, stables and a myriad of other buildings both fanciful and mighty, necessary to uphold the ruling of their lands. The River Oros ran through the city, although to be more precise it rather flowed under it, the river having caved its bed under the giant oak over the course of millennia. Even the elves had forgotten, or at least to Andor it had always been like that. The water seemed to spew out from the tree’s gnarled roots that crawled like giant spider legs across the forest floor. In his childhood, the magnificent splendour of Valantes used to impress Andor greatly, and he would marvel at the decorative facades all hewn out of cream coloured stone, glass-stained windows catching the rays of sunlight to paint rainbows on the inner walls, serpentine stairways leading up to beautiful circular turrets. More than once his foster parents had to pull the little boy along, his amber eyes alight in childish wonder at the bustling activities. Countless times had he treaded this path since then and yet now he rather resented to set foot in the place where others had taken command of his life to use as they saw fit. Trying to recall their faces, stern and unmoving as they had proceeded to reveal what was to be his task, he only felt resentment, so he decided not to dwell on it anymore and directed his focus on the pathway instead.

* * *

The moon had begun to rise. Pale light trickled through the row of trees and their tangle of twigs, turning the warm hues of the autumn leaves into a play of muted shades of grey, the rays of moonlight undulating along the pathway like delicate ribbons of purest silver. Andor took delight in the swaying branches above and the faint melody they wove among themselves, peaceful, consoling, eternal. Maybe what he had done wasn’t so wrong after all, if it would help to keep all this safe. A home for his little brother to grow up undisturbed by the dangers that loomed beyond their borders. Flecks of palest blue began to shimmer through the cool night air, restless aspen leaves dancing in the breeze that were soon joined by a flurry of tiny dots of light zigzagging around Andor, their golden light mingling with the silvery rays and bathing the forest in an ethereal glow. Andor’s gaze softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t common to see the fireflies come out at all in autumn, their favourite season being summer with its balmy nights, but maybe they had sensed that his soul was a dark place tonight and they had come to accompany him, even if it were only for a little part of his journey. He held out his left hand and a singular golden speck of light zoomed downwards to hover over his outstretched palm. Andor stopped in his tracks, heartbeat drumming in his chest, blood pounding in his head, as he allowed the tiny visitor to settle on his hand. Like a minute flame it buzzed atop his palm, perfect in its roundness, specks of gold dancing in Andor’s flaming eyes as he stared at it, his hand glowing iridescently, like liquid sunlight coating his fingers and seeping up his arm. A pulsating warmth flowed through his veins, flooding his chest with swirls of summer sky. A wave of peacefulness washed over him, filling his heart with renewed confidence. He stood in complete silence, seemed to have fallen out of time altogether. Lost in the spectacle before his eyes, Andor had not noticed the increasing rustling of leaves from somewhere off the path until to his left the outline of an ash-blonde male came into sight. From the corner of his eye Andor could discern the distinct features of someone whom he would gladly have avoided.

* * *

“Playing with fireflies, are we?” An icy snarl cut through the air, all dots of light wiped out at once, swallowed by the darkness, their golden glow and their warmth vanishing. The fireflies scattered, save for the one on Andor’s hand, which took refuge on his right shoulder in a small nook of his quiver. 

“What does it matter to you?” Andor’s empty hand sank and he turned on his heel, intent on continuing on his path.

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. But why are you in such a hurry to leave?” The blonde elf had a look of smugness plastered on his face. Andor knew that look only too well. Gilren was dangerous, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of provocation. A thin scar running like a silvery vein across the plain of his right cheek was visible proof of his inclination to pick fights at his leisure.

“You know very well where I am heading to.” Andor kept glancing towards the pathway ahead. He would not give Gilren the satisfaction of letting himself be drawn into a silly fight, not tonight.

Gilren casually ambled closer, his thumbs hooked into his leather belt, where the blade of his curved knife glinted in the moonlight. “Mind if I come with you?”

Silently cursing his luck, Andor had to fight the urge to tell Gilren to throw himself into the Pits of Doom and never show his spiteful face in Elysse ever again. With all the calm that he could muster he said: “You are free to go wherever you wish.”

“Oh, how most generous of you,” Gilren drawled, his words dripping with mocked curtesy as his fingers drummed on the hilt of his knife.

For a moment Andor held his breath, sizing up the elf in front of him. He bit back whatever remark lingered on the tip of his tongue, then turned away to resume his brisk pace. The Council, his report, back home. Sleep, forget and maybe return to a normal life. He would not allow this wretched elf to spoil his success. Gilren fell into step beside him and it didn’t take him long to continue his taunting.

“So eager to get to the Council. Must be a great feeling to come back a hero.” Gilren threw his words like arrowheads.

Andor tightened his jaw, but walked on in silence, wishing that the distinct outline of Valantes might come into sight soon and he would be freed of his unwanted travel companion. But to his disappointment the city still lay out of their view and Gilren stayed glued to him. The blonde elf picked up a twig and twirled it in his hand before tossing it into the next thicket, stirring up a pair of robins, who shot up into the air, taking refuge in the branches above.

“Fine, don’t say anything, ignore me. You’ll see how far you’ll get with that brooding arrogance of yours.”

“Did you follow me all this way just to tell me that?” Andor said cooly, casually adjusting his bow, his bare feet gliding over the forest floor with unfaltering precision.

“I’ll tell you what, Andor. One day you will make a mistake, take a wrong step and then I’ll be there and it won’t be to catch you.” Gilren edged closer, too close for Andor’s comfort, lowering his voice to a whisper, his words pure venom. “I will watch you fall and then I will step on you and crush you and make sure that you won’t ever get up again.”

Andor bristled, then stopped dead, turning towards Gilren, who stood nearly as tall as he himself,but with a slightly wider frame. While Andor was lithe and graceful, Gilren was all corded muscle and he rarely missed a possibility to show off his strength. Getting on his wrong side would most likely result in bruises and broken bones, something that Andor had had the pleasure of painfully experiencing first hand in the past. A smirk on his face, his blonde hair gleaming nearly white in the descending darkness, Gilren had now folded his arms in front of his broad chest, possibly expecting a chance to finally draw Andor into a fight.

Andor exhaled a long breath. “I have no interest in playing your little games or whatever it is you think your are doing. I wish to make my way to the Council, undisturbed. I don’t think that the elders would be overly fond of knowing that _someone_ has kept me from my duties. Duties that are essential for the well-being of our people, which unfortunately includes you too.” There was a small twitch in Gilren’s left eye as Andor continued, his expression unfazed, “They will know exactly for whom to look for, as you have not been exactly holding back on showing everyone how much you detest me,” and pausing for effect he added “so you can either walk with me in silence or be gone.” Andor enunciated the last two words very clearly.

Gilren narrowed his eyes and threw Andor a belligerent glance, “Are you threatening me?” Hetilted his head sideways and rolled his shoulders back, the arrows in his quiver rustling with the flexing of his muscles.

Andor held his gaze, his lips drawn into a thin line as he sought to uphold a facade of deadly calm. He was treading on thin ice and if Gilren was a little smarter he would smell the idle threat. But suddenly there was a shift in those marble grey eyes and Gilren’s shoulders seemed to slouch but an inch.

“Fine, you’re lucky I’m in a merciful mood. I’ll leave you be for tonight, but I am not done with you.” With a calculating glare Gilren raised one warning finger before turning around swiftly, heading into the underbrush beside the pathway. After another beat he had disappeared into the thickets of the forest.

* * *

Andor exhaled slowly, relaxing his jaw and silently thanking the Ancient One for having spared him another useless fight. He ran a slightly unsteady hand through his jet-black hair and straightened his tunic, making sure that the empty phial remained securely nestled inside his pockets. He would have to show it to the Council so they could inspect it, somehow being able to determine if he had done everything according to plan. He did not know how they would extricate all this information from an empty glass bottle, but it was not up to him to question neither the authority nor the wisdom of the elders. An icy chill slithered down his spine as his thumb brushed over the smooth glass, the sacrifice of a human girl, cold-blooded and ruthless, her heartbreaking pleas still resounding in his ears. He swallowed hard, his throat clogging up. Her sky-blue eyes had looked up to him, trusting him and he had betrayed them without mercy, filling them with terror, shattering them until they were forever gone. Andor drew his brows together in an angry frown and before another ghostly image of Rose could settle like a thorn in his heart he resumed his steps, the tiny firefly buzzing lazily atop his shoulder. 

To be continued… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you got a little bit more of Elysse to discover and another new face, Gilren, who seems to have more than one problem with Andor. We'll see how that works out for our protagonist, but first he must face the Council. So onwards then to Valantes it is!


	7. A Long Awaited Departure

_One day earlier_

“Where is that bloody ticket?” Rose cursed as she shuffled through her papers, trying to organise them into neat piles, but of course the one thing, the train ticket, remained hidden. The rain was pouring down, too cold and wet for an early autumn day, heavy droplets pattering against the window of her small living room. But Rose did not care for the weather, blocking out the frantic staccato of water against glass, when she was so at odds with her own disorganisation. It was hopeless! Her desk was a mess and it didn’t help that she was under time pressure. She had checked her watch practically every five minutes in the last hour. The train would leave at five, in less than two hours. She needed to get things sorted out if she did not want to miss this chance to finally see the place her heart told her to be.

“Oh, come on, Rose, are you still holding on to that crazy plan of yours?” Melinda was sitting on the sofa across the room, shaking her head and her black locks bouncing around her face. Rose could feel her friend’s reproachful glare boring into her back.

“Yes, I am. And it’s not crazy at all. I have this all thought through. I have the train ticket, somewhere in this room, and I will go to that forest for a hike both relaxing and informative and on Sunday evening I will be back.” She pinned a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear to avoid it from falling over her eyes as she tilted her head sideways to peer under yet another stack of miscellaneous photos and loose notes, still hunting for the elusive ticket.

“Well, you can call this whatever you want, but you cannot hide from me that this has to do with this obsession you have with that glade and those pointy eared weirdoes.” Melinda rolled her eyes and took a sip from her tea-cup.

“It’s not an obsession and those pointy eared weirdoes, as you like to call them, are called elves. I have been wanting to see this place since I was a kid and now that I’ve finally been able to figure out the map from my book, I need to see for myself if there is any truth about this … ,” Rose’s voicetrailed off, while she pulled out one drawer after the other, slamming them shut again in frustration.

Melinda cocked her head sideways, frowning. “This what?”

“Nevermind!” Rose said with an offhand gesture. “ You would only make fun of it anyway.”

“Oh, now that’s not a nice thing to say! I’m your oldest friend, Rose. I just want to know what you’re up to. You haven’t even told me what exactly it is you are searching for. You haven’t even asked me if I wanted to come with you.”

“I’m sorry.” Rose leaned against the desk to face Melinda. “I know that you are my oldest and best friend, but this is something that I must do by myself. You of all people should understand me. I just want to look around, feel what it’s like to be there. Besides, I know how much you hate to be away from the city, so why drag you along, if you could be spending your time lounging in your favourite café? And you should finally buy that sexy black dress you have been eyeing for the last weeks!” Rose gave Melinda a mischievous smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I would only spoil the fun. Spending extended periods of time away from civilisation isn’t really my thing.” She twirled one of her locks in between her fingers. “Do you really think the dress fits me? Is it not too low cut?”

“It will fit you just fine and you know it. You’re just too modest about showing your figure.”

Melinda leaned back on the sofa, eyeing the tray laden with biscuits on the small table beside her. Her fingers danced atop them, and then she finally reached out for a dark chocolate cookie.

“Those are delicious,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

“My mother brought them over this morning, since she always seems to think that I am starving, but I’m not taking them with me. First it’s chocolate, so it will melt, second it’s cookies, so there will be crumbs. And I cannot have that. You know me. So feel free to eat them.”

Melinda snorted, covering her mouth to avoid the crumbs from spraying all over her clothes. “Well, at least your mom does bake, not like mine, who thinks take-out is cooking at its finest.”

Melinda munched away silently, while Rose turned around again and was now staring out the window, the autumn wind whipping around dark clouds in the sky.

“I cannot really rationally explain what pulls me there. There is something inside me, has always been since I can remember, that speaks to me. I have glimpsed things, or at least fragments of things, places and people that I have never ever seen in my life, yet they still seem somehow familiar. I know that you think that I’m crazy, believing in such things, but there is something out there waiting for me, something that I need to go and find. And now is the time. I have waited long enough.”

She turned to face Melinda, who had watched her with her mouth open and now closed it, her teeth chattering as she did so, swallowing the last bite of her cookie.

“I just want to get some closure, that is all. Besides, I could use a weekend all to myself, after all those extra hours I’ve been working this week, don’t you think so?” She grinned wryly.

“Yes, yes of course. You’re right. Take your weekend off and maybe it’s good that you get that thing of yours sorted out. Come back with a clear mind. Just make sure you be careful out there, will you?”

“I will. You make it sound as if I were going somewhere dangerous. I’m only taking a trip to the peaceful countryside.” Rose had now begun to stuff some clothes into her backpack, a pair of jeans and a sweater, quickly scanning her closet for anything else she might need.

“Forests can be dangerous too, especially at night and you’re going to be all alone.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like my mother.” Rose cocked an eyebrow at Melinda. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Fine, fine, you big girl, but I’m still three years older than you, so I’m allowed to be somewhat protective. I mean, what if you do encounter one of those elves?”

“What?” Rose pulled out some socks and underwear from the drawer in her closet. “Until just a few minutes ago you called them weirdoes and _me_ crazy for believing in their existence and now you’re worried that I might actually bump into one?”

“I’m just trying to cover all the corners.”

“Well, if I happen to come across one, then I’ll promise you that you’ll be the first to hear about it.”

“Fine, I’ll settle for that. But you do know that you’re going to miss the party over at Robert’s house. And he’s been dying to propose to you for ages!” Melinda crooned behind her.

“I know. That’s exactly why I’m not going to be at that party and not anywhere near his house any time soon.” Rose shifted around papers and books on her nightstand, work that she had brought home from her job at the library, and finally she fished out the train ticket, which she had used as bookmark, waving it in the air triumphantly.

“You know what’s my opinion of Robert. He’s nice enough, but he’s just so full of himself, thinking that I’m going to say yes, just because he’s landed that big job for himself.” She huffed in indignation. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, but my affection cannot be bought. Wealth doesn’t impress me.” Her voice sounded slightly muffled from the bathroom, where she now jammed her toothbrush into a too small cosmetics bag.

“I’m sure that’s not his plan,” Melinda seemed slightly off-put. “Just give him a chance, will you? When you come back.” She had that expectant look on her face when Rose emerged from the bathroom.

Rose tossed the cosmetics bag on top of everything else in the backpack with a drawn out sigh. “Fine, fine. But only because he’s your brother. We can go for some coffee when I’m back. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“That’s my girl.” Melinda smiled brightly, emptying the last of her tea in one swig, dropping it on the saucer with a loud clang. “Shouldn’t you be on your way already?”

Rose threw a glance at her watch. “Yes, you’re right! Time for me to go!”

She grabbed her light coat, slid into her leather shoes, reached for her backpack and her bag, making sure once more that she had the book with her, the train ticket securely placed inside, and then she was all set. She kissed Melinda on the cheek and turned around to head for the door.

“Just let yourself out whenever you want. Oh, and you’ll feed Antares like you promised? Twice a day, otherwise he’ll be driving the whole neighbourhood crazy with his meowing.” Rose was still lingering in the doorway, her hand on the door knob.

“Yes, of course. I’ll take care of your sweetie boy. Don’t you worry.” Melinda shooed her away with her hands. “Now, begone already, the train isn’t gonna wait for one crazy oddball like you.”

“Only you get to call me crazy oddball and not have a shoe thrown at your head!” Rose said with a smirk and was gone.

“Hey, you forgot your umbrella!” Melinda called after her, but the door had already clicked shut.

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a total of 3 chapters to shed some light on Rose right before she entered the glade, then I will cut back to Andor. (These chapters might later be moved to go right after Chapter 3, but I will upload them for now here). I apologise for any confusion this might cause, but this is very much work in progress and as the story is now growing rapidly, there might be editing and shifting around going on.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter^^!


	8. The Journey

 “Shoot!” Rose muttered under her breath as she stepped outside, the rain still pouring down in torrents. With a wary glance at her watch she decided to simply pull her hood up and brace the weather. It was either go all the way back up to her apartment, five floors without an elevator, and get her umbrella, or make it to the train station on time. She did not have to think twice about her choice. A little bit of water from above wouldn’t foil her plans.

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as she strode down the street, a grey mass of people pushing by her in a rush, heading home for the weekend. Carefully avoiding the puddles, she zigzagged her way to the bus-stop. When the outline of the bus appeared like a greyish giant behind a curtain of rain a bit further down the street, she increased her pace, swearing as she misstepped and landed her right foot ankle deep inside a puddle. The bus turned out to be uncomfortably full, the air stuffy despite the chill. She squeezed herself into an empty seat, dropping her bags on the floor in front of her. The raindrops dripped down her hood and onto her lap and she was dearly hoping that the hotel she had booked would have the heating all the way up. The trip was slow and she had to rush from the bus to the train station. Only fifteen minutes were left for the train to leave. She rummaged through her bag, blindly fumbling for the ticket while her eyes scanned the destination board for the right platform.

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” She groaned, throwing the board a reproachful glare and wistfully ignoring the indignant stares from an elderly couple beside her. The numbers and letters blinked incessantly, telling her with as much precision as indifference that her train had been moved to a different platform. Platform 17, to be exact, that was the last one and the one furthest away from the entrance. She had exactly eight minutes to get there. And the entire train station to cross.

Trying to ignore the squelching noise in her right shoe she broke into a near run. She careened around people hauling their luggage, parents gripping their kids’ hands tightly so they wouldn’t get lost in the crowd, tourists stopping right in the middle to have a discussion about which way to head to the taxi stand. She clutched at her bags, skidding along. Four more minutes left. Platforms 9 and 10 flew past her, and the thought flitted through her mind, if there was indeed another platform hidden behind that solid brick wall. She waltzed through a group of school children, handing out excuses left and right for pushing aside kids that looked no older than ten. She tried to blend out the impolite words their teachers threw after her.

Platform 17 was now right ahead. Two minutes left. She decided to skip the escalator, which was packed with travellers, and headed for the stairs instead. The penetrating horn of the approaching train cut through the air. She hurtled up the stairway, taking two steps at a time, the platform finally in sight.

“This glade better be worth all this!” she grumbled to herself, panting heavily as the train doors opened with an angry hissing sound.

As she made her way through the wagons, she felt somewhat relieved that the train seemed nearly empty. Apparently not many people wanted to go where she was headed to. Rose found a quiet compartment all to herself, dumped her baggage on one seat and then let herself sink onto the seat beside the window. She took off her shoes, the right sock all soaked through. For a moment she considered changing into a fresh pair, but refrained from doing so when she realised that her shoe would still be wet. At the hotel she would dry herself up and hopefully be able to rest, so tomorrow she would get a fresh start. She exhaled a long breath, allowing her heartbeat to slow down and a small smile dawned on her face. Finally, her journey had begun.

* * *

The hotel turned out all right, it was small and cosy and offered her enough privacy not to feel under observation by neither the owners nor the other guests. It was more of a guesthouse though and the small village it was situated in, was really just that: small. Trying to imagine Melinda being confined to such a remote place for a whole weekend, brought an amused smile to her face. She would have most likely died of boredom. A few dozen houses, two tiny shops, an inn with a dubious looking facade, a school and a church were the only other buildings besides the guesthouse. But no one had asked any questions and she gladly retired to her room, finally peeling herself out of all those wet garments. She filled the tub after having decorated the heater with a selection of her clothes as well as her shoes. Her stomach grumbled when she dried herself up, but she wasn’t in the mood of paying a visit to that inn, the windows damp, and the colours somewhat faded, so she decided to munch on part of the provision she had brought for her hike. Tomorrow morning she would replenish her supplies in one of the two shops. She pulled on her pyjamas, grabbed her book, and slid into bed, tired of today’s trip and excited about tomorrow’s adventure. 

When she wrapped her fingers around the warm brown leather it was like welcoming an old friend.The surface was worn and rugged with all the use it had gotten throughout the years, the pages yellow and stained. How many times she had held it in her hands, she could not remember. She could not even remember how it had gotten into the possession of her family. It had just always been there and one day her mother had given it to Rose, allowing her to take a look at it, although she used to tell her that it was of no real use, written in a language no one could understand. According to her mother someone in the family had found it in an antiquarian-bookshop and bought it just because of the nice and colourful images. Rose though liked to think of it as the creation of some dubious ancestor, who possibly had a penchant for toying around with words and imaginary places. But even when Rose was still too little to read, in whatever language known or not known to mankind, she simply used to enjoy the beautiful drawings and the map it included. It became her own personal treasure which she would take with her wherever she went, awakening her own interest in languages and the magic of words. The book even seemed to seep into her dreams, filling them with strange and beautiful images. Her mind took her to places she had never set foot in, magical and dangerous. Until suddenly things were about to become real. Last week during one of her many dreams she felt something like knowledge shifting from the shadows into the light, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Rose had suddenly awoken with a consciousness that had not been there before. She knew now where she needed to go. She hadn’t really figured out the map like she had told Melinda. That was the story she had served her friend, since admitting that some unearthly vision in her dreams had suddenly revealed to Rose the location of this secret place, would have only fuelled Melinda’s impression of Rose being throughly nuts. But be that as it may, here she was, and she knew that if she allowed that inner voice to guide her, it would lead her to the right place.

She barely slept that night, her dreams wild and frightening as she found herself sprawled on the grass, a sea of white flowers around her. There was only white light and then eternal darkness on the other side.

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose's journey has finally begun, but where will it end? And then there's that mysterious book. Does it hold a clue to Rose's fate?
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter^^!


	9. An Inkling of Magic

Rose shoved the bitter aftertaste of her dream to the back of her mind, her resolution to hold on to her plan not wavering. The weather had improved considerably and when she peered out the window, a near cloudless sky promised her a crisp autumn day. Perfect for what she was planning. She washed herself up, slid into her clothes, her right shoe having dried up sufficiently during the night. It was warm enough to walk without a coat, but she still stuffed it inside her bag, just in case.  After a frugal breakfast she packed the book and the leftover food, enough to last her for a few hours, so there was no need to stop at the shop, and headed out.

The pathway towards the forest was marked clear enough, forking left from the main road just beside the church. Not much people were out and about when she left the village behind. The landscape spread like a resplendent quilt before her eyes, the patches of colour deep and saturated, a flock of black birds soaring high above her in the clear blue sky. Rolling hills and deep brown fields lay now mostly barren, but no less colourful, after the harvest. She inhaled deeply as she walked on, the smell of wet earth and fallen leaves filling the air. A sense of peacefulness overcame her, here so far away from everything, alone, but not lonely. Ahead of her the forest loomed like a massive wall of green, dotted with fiery orange and earthy terracotta. Tendrils of wood unfurling, beckoning her, calling to her.

The air was buzzing and the rustling of leaves accompanied her as the vegetation grew thicker around her. Trees huddled closely together, their branches overhead whispering a song that was both foreign and familiar. She completely lost the sense of time, had even forgotten to check her watch, when she stopped abruptly.

There was a ripple in the air, a crack in the atmosphere. Barely noticeable, but for a faint tingle on her skin, an undulation in her soul. She felt it before she saw it, and nearly walked past it, since the spot looked just like any other place in the forest. Trees, bushes, two heavy boulders overgrown with moss and lichen, nothing but forest all around it. Only when she looked closer she noticed that those two boulders had been strategically placed facing each other, as if they were to mark an entrance. A small round flower had been carved into one of them, a leaf into the other, the outlines weather-worn and barely visible beneath the patches of moss. But there could be no doubt about it. She recognised those symbols from her book. For a moment she froze, her heartbeat racing, her hands clutching her bag.

This was what she had been waiting for all along. The tug on her heart became stronger, an unrelenting call echoing through her veins. With one hasty glance over her shoulder she stepped in between the two boulders and stretched out her hand, shaky and tentatively at first as if she expected to meet resistance, but there was none, only a slight wobble in the air as her hand wentright through whatever was sealing away the world beyond.

 _Be brave_ , she said to herself.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever might await her on the other side. An inkling of magic hummed in her ears as she stepped through the ripple. And then the world was gone to be made anew. Buttery sunlight enveloped her, the air balmy, the colours mellow. The clearing looked exactly like the drawing in her book, but more vivid, as if some magical painter had breathed life into it. She stood in awe, taking in the scenery, so quiet, so serene, even unearthly, uncountable white flowers dotting the lush green grass. It was spring, despite the rest of the forest sporting the obvious signs of autumn. Spring eternal. Impossible, yet she could see it with her own eyes, smell it, the sweet scent of budding flowers. After lingering on the threshold, she slowly dared to advance more, taking one step at a time. Somehow she found herself trying to avoid crushing the flowers as if they were living creatures. Still, she ventured further, her initial hesitation gradually shifting to curiosity.

But then something changed.

A leaden heaviness settled in, fear clenching at her heart. She felt an ancient power rising around her, closing in on her. It seemed that whatever had allowed her to pass through, was now sealing the way back. Shadows of foreboding spread in her chest like a drop of ink in water. Maybe she had intruded into someone’s territory without permission or had awoken some evil spirit as she had so brazenly stepped through the magical barrier. Possibly this whole endeavour wasn’t such a good idea after all and Melinda had been right all along in calling her crazy. She turned around, searching, her eyes scanning the beautiful clearing around her. But she was alone and everything was deceptively quiet except for the chirping of birds, the soft rustle of leaves and the soothing flow of water. There was a spring in the middle, its fountain gurgling merrily, the water crystal clear and inviting. She would drink, refill her bottle and then be on her way. The feeling that she was being watched crept up her spine like a slithering snake and her motions turned somewhat awkward, edgy. She hastily dropped her bag beside the boulder to lean down and drink.

And then she heard him.

“Don’t drink from that fountain! It might be enchanted.” The voice was a sensual caress, danger prowling beneath.

Her insides went hot and cold, her instincts telling her to run. Fast. But her legs were deaf to her brain’s feeble commands. They were like lead, heavy, unmoving. Tales, dark, old and twisted, of evil creatures stealing away humans stumbled upon each other in her mind, amidst them murmuring promises of lands so beautiful they were beyond the power of imagination of any human. There was a shard of reason in the back of her head that whispered to her, that no human had possibly ever made it back home alive to tell.

 _Don’t let him lure you in,_ she told herself as she whipped around. To no avail.

Beautiful and deadly and most definitely not from this world was the man who now approached her with a feline grace that made her knees weak and her mind go numb. He was barefoot, his soft footfall unheard on the grass. Tall and lean, yet athletic, his dark brown tunic and trousers accenting every chiselled muscle. A warrior, no doubt, although she could not spot a single weapon strapped to his body. Not that he needed them, not with those muscles and that towering frame.

“W—what? Who are you? Don’t get any closer or I’ll yell!” She neither expected an answer nor for him to back up. She was only trying to buy herself some time. Time to find a way out. Her palms were beginning to sweat, her heart drumming loudly in her chest.

Raven black hair flowed around his broad shoulders, cascades of ebony gilded with speckles of sunlight. And then she finally dared to look up to his face. There was a ruthless beauty etched into his angular features, his sensuous lips a striking contrast, delicately pointed ears peeking through the strands of black. Not human, it hammered through her head, but an elf. Of course, no human was this devastatingly beautiful and lethal all at once. His eyes, a golden amber, sparkling and bright,  sealed her fate. They were unearthly and seemed to glow like liquid sunlight. He was sizing her up languidly, assessing her, a nonchalant smile tugging at those perfect lips.

“Do not fear me,” he said, his voice a melodious song. Every word spelled danger.

A panther. A predator. And she, his prey.

This wasn’t going to end well for her and it dawned on her that she might never ever see her home again.

To be continued….

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this did not go the way Rose had hoped for. Maybe elves are wicked creatures after all. But will this be the end of Rose? Or is there more to her than meets the eye?
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter which will take us back to Andor on his way to the Council ^^!  
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated :D!
> 
> PS: just in case you are confused: yes I've changed Andor's eye colour to amber, golden like the sun, which is the way I've been seeing it in my head for a while. His gaze is magnetic and slightly unsettling, so this unusual colour fits him perfectly.


	10. Valantes

_Andor_

Valantes lay behind a veil of greyish branches, a magnificent sleeping beauty, its attire as majestic and awe-inspiring by night as it was in bright daylight. Between the dark pillars of trees the city’s outer walls gleamed like slivers of ivory, turrets and spires shooting up high into the leafy dome of Atunar above. But Andor did not have eyes for beauty and splendour tonight, knowing what still lay ahead of him, besides, the unnerving encounter with Gilren had done nothing to lighten his mood. He kept his eyes on the leaf-strewn pathway ahead, his bare feet treading lightly over the ever thickening net of gnarled roots. The River Oros rushed away beside him, the dark waters gurgling with renewed vigour after they had broken free from their confined riverbed beneath the city. Andor followed the trail along the eastern bank upstream, the trees around him gradually receding as they made way for the giant oak, which spread its sweeping branches high above Valantes like protective wooden wings. The pathway widened and were it during daytime, he would have shared this last stretch with a multitude of other elves, eager to reach the city and its promise of bustling activity. Andor was grateful for the relative silence and peacefulness the late hour granted him, when only the occasional passerby threw him a more or less indifferent glance. Since the privilege of a direct entrance to the city had been claimed by the River Oros itself, the people of Valantes had built serpentine pathways along both sides of the river, using the tree’s enormous roots as base. They led up to two beautiful gates on either side of Atunar, and two similar paths had been contrived on the northern side, providing the city with four main points of access. 

Right before the path sloped upwards to ease into its gradual ascent towards the city gate, Andor passed the entrance to the royal training grounds, a vast area, which extended along the outer walls and into the surrounding forest. Closest to the trail, the archery range lay now deserted, its wooden targets looming like ominous sentinels in the darkness, the usual shouting and noisy clamour replaced by a watchful silence. Uncountable hours had he spent here, honing his skills with the bow from the days of his early youth on. Olear, his foster-father, had taught Andor the basic skills of archery and instilled in him the appreciation for a beautifully crafted weapon. He was a renowned fletcher, who took pride in his craft, his arrows of cedar wood being famous for their exceptional lightness and superior velocity, but being more of an artisan than an archer himself, he soon had reached the limit of what he could teach his son. The remarkable ease with which Andor used to handle the bow had not escaped the instructors at the training grounds, and so they had invited him to train alongside the recruits of the king’s guard, although certain restrictions had been clear from the very beginning. Only members of notable families were usually chosen for these honourable positions and as someone whose parentage was unknown, Andor was far from meeting those requirements. He would receive training, but without the prospect of ever joining the ranks of the king’s guard. Despite this irrevocable barrier, Andor had been well aware of the exceptional privilege he had been granted and Olear had made him promise to be on his best behaviour so as not to squander it.

Still, it had not been easy for Andor and initially he had found himself at the centre of unwanted attention from those who had considered him beneath them, Gilren rarely skipping an opportunity to let Andor feel that he wasn’t really one of them. Lucky for him he had found support in Bergil and Caladon, who had turned out to be his most fervent defenders, Bergil nearly matching Gilren in his rough muscularity and Caladon, whose lighthearted spirit had pulled Andor out of his shadows of self doubt more than once. And then there was Elia, his childhood friend and the fiercest of them all, her knives as sharp as her tongue and even Gilren would shut his mouth when she was around, as she wasn’t fussy about whom to give a taste of her sharpened blades.

During his years of training Andor had turned out to be truly remarkable with the bow, but to his own disappointment he had never been able to bring his skill with the blade to the same level of perfection. He could defend himself with the admirable grace akin to a dancer if it came to it, even kept a small hunting knife on him at most times, but he could never quite bring himself to appreciate the blunt brutality of close combat. Piercing another one’s body, slicing the throat or chopping off limbs was not Andor’s way of fighting, unlike Gilren, who seemed to revel in the gore of massacring his opponents until nothing much recognisable remained of their bodies. Andor was a hunter, silent and stealthy, and to him hunting was an art, not an act of aggression. It required moving unheard and unseen, like a shadow in the woods. In all of this he excelled, and when he closed in for a kill, his aim was a clean and swift death with a single arrow shot from his trusted yew longbow.

Being a thoroughly trained warrior, Andor could have filled a variety of other positions, from border patrol to guarding the main waterway through the forest at its entrance or exit points, but he had chosen to stay helping Olear and Meril, his foster-parents, as best as he could, to support their small family. So Andor had found himself not only accompanying Olear to the markets to sell his arrows and hunting game to provide them with food, but he had also taken up to pass on his knowledge in archery, teaching the children who were still too young to join the ranks of trainees for the king’s guard, but were yet more than eager to learn. Andor’s own instructors had encouraged him to do so, as it not only liberated them from excess work, but also provided them with well prepared recruits once the children were old enough. At first it was not an official position and nothing Andor could count on, as he basically depended on the good-will of the families, who would give their children into his care, but it had soon turned out that he had a good rapport with his young charges and they in turn adored their tutor, his little brother Tin being amongst the most devoted ones, so it had become regular work. To his surprise he had found himself enjoying those hours more than what he would have ever enjoyed being sworn in to protect the king.

He strode past the grounds, empty, save for a few guards, who kept watch during the night, their shapes outlined against the inky sky. A group of three stood around a small, but merrily crackling fire, their familiar faces illuminated by the flickering orange glow. They greeted Andor with casual nods as he passed them.

“Good to see you back!” called Nolar, the stoutest of the three, poking the fire with a wooden stick, so it flared up brightly.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten about your little tournament tomorrow!” added Bragol, the one in the middle, flashing a row of pearly white teeth as he grinned.

“No, of course, I haven’t,” Andor retorted with a half-smile, but of course he had indeed forgotten and groaned now inwardly at the prospect of having to show up tomorrow for a tournament he had suddenly lost any interest in. Even though it had been originally his idea to host these informal competitions for his young up-and-coming archers, giving them a chance to show what they had learned and how their technique had improved over time. He knew how much it meant to them, their faces shining with pride, when they succeeded in impressing their parents with a particularly difficult shot. And yes, there was no denying it, it usually brought a smile to his face too, but after today’s happenings the last thing he wanted, was to be surrounded by a group of gawking people. He would need to come up with a credible excuse, but he would think about that after his meeting with the elders.

“The little ones are counting on you!” said Findir, the third one, tilting his head sideways, as if he had read Andor’s thoughts.

Andor only gave him a noncommittal gesture, pushing away the image of disappointment on the children’s faces, when they would realise that he wasn’t coming, and called over his shoulder “I’ll be there.”

* * *

The pathway now rose gradually until it converted into a steep incline and then the gate came into sight, a majestic rounded archway hewn out of cream coloured stone, two guards dressed in night-blue tunics positioned on each side. Andor looked up into their faces, both equally dutiful and solemn, but none of them even so much as flinched, allowing him to pass without a question being asked. Once he stepped through the gate, a high pitched buzzing sound made him look back over his shoulder. A tiny golden dot was zooming up into the night sky. With a small smile he turned to walk ahead. Fireflies kept to the forest, but he was nevertheless glad for the tiny companion, even if it had been only for a short time. Maybe they would yet meet again. 

The city’s labyrinthine network of narrow streets spread before Andor, during daytime packed with residents, travellers and merchants hustling along. Now the workshops lay dormant, the colourful and lively aura replaced by a lazy quiet. Still, the scent of recent activity lingered in the air, a variety of odours, both pleasant and repulsive, wafting through the empty streets. Andor took a wide alley to the left, which followed a near diagonal line towards the centre of the city. He kept his pace quick, the rows of buildings on either side blurring into one long stretch of decorative facades, trying to vie for the attention of idle perambulators. But of those none were to be found at this hour, only the occasional late night frequenter of one of the various taverns with questionable reputation, hidden in darker side alleys, stumbling from one shadow into the next. He gave them a wide berth, as he wasn’t looking for any additional trouble tonight. Around the next corner, there was a small square from which various smaller alleyways fanned out left and right, as well as a slightly wider one from across the opposite end, leading up to the higher levels of the city in a considerable ascent. This was where the complex of the royal palace lay, and within it the Council’s Hall, securely nestled against the withered bark of Atunar, which appeared almost stone-like due to its great age, and at first sight buildings and tree seemed to be one and the same. Up and up he strode, the houses around him growing wider and the facades more imposing as he walked on. These were the homes of the wealthy citizens of Valantes, keen on displaying their prestigious possessions, and basking in the glory of the nearby court. An increasing amount of torches lit up the alley, which finally opened up into a wide elongated square, beyond which lay the king’s palace. Several sets of guards patrolled the square despite it being completely devoid of any nightly visitors. Two more guards were positioned at the wrought metal gates, but one glance at Andor’s face made them step aside and grant him entrance.

The gates swung open wide, the gleaming metal making way for a splendidly paved walkway, flanked by dense hawthorn hedges nearly his own height, dotted with shiny red haws, which seemed to be staring like a myriad of beady eyes at him as he walked by. The Royal Court was nearly another smaller city inside Valantes with illustrious buildings, artful courtyards, lush gardens, delicate turrets and impressive towers all composing a picture of regal elegance. The facades of smooth cream-coloured stone brimmed over with intricate adornments of leaves, tall pillars shaped like trees growing into the night sky. Slender columns crowned with blossom-shaped capitals supported rounded archways leading into inner patios. Everything was gentle curves and sweeping lines. Briar roses and thick vines of ivy were fighting greedily for dominance over the stone-walls enclosing one of the gardens adjacent to the palace, a crippled blackthorn bush, reduced to a darkened stump, huddled in their midst. The murmuring of fountains and the solitary cry of a peacock accompanied Andor as he neared the stairs to the palace. His heart hammered in his chest as he strode up the expansive stairs and a set of wide oaken doors with massive metal mounts appeared on the topmost landing. For the first time tonight he was stopped, the two guards in their night-blue tunics crossing their spears in front of him with a grating sound. It was not unexpected as it was obligatory for anyone who did not belong to the royal household to state the matter of their visit.

“Who requests admittance to King Xanthos’ palace? Declare yourself!”

“Andor, son of Olear. The Council is expecting me.” He kept his words short and crisp, no need for a flowery speech.

A sharp and assessing glance and the spears were retreated. Two unnecessary loud stomps on the floor with their wooden ends and the doors swung open, creaking low on their metal hinges. A strangely cool air, like one that one might expect to find in a great underground cave, met his nose, and as always when he set foot inside the palace, he wished nothing more than to get back into the open.

He had only just crossed the threshold when two guards swiftly stepped up beside him. It seemed that he had been expected. Andor eyed them with dismay. Of course it had to be Roiben and Kando, who used their nightly shifts as opportunity to play their tricks on anyone unlucky enough to fall into their hands. Their expertise wasn’t violence, but since they were identical twins, something that was quite rare among elves, they apparently thought that this entitled them to play pranks at a rate that should be forbidden.

“I know my way to the council. I don’t need you to accompany me,” he said, pushing his chin forward and tightening the grip on his bow.

“We are not here to walk you to the council,” Roiben slid his hand towards the hilt of his sword and stepped in front of Andor, his russet locks bouncing, mischief glinting in his hazel eyes, “although I’m not quite sure, Kando, dear brother mine, what do you think?”

Roiben turned towards his brother, who had come to stand beside him and eyed Andor with an equally roughish grin, wagging his head, as if his answer needed an extra amount of pondering. “I don’t know,” Kando finally said, drawing out the words, “maybe he could use some guidance, just to be sure that he doesn’t get lost. After all, he is still nearly a fledgling.”

Roiben nodded his approvement, his eyebrows forming a straight line. “Young elves like you should not be out past bedtime, something bad might happen to them on the way.”

Both brothers planted themselves in front of him, their tunics tight across their broad chests, fingers drumming on the hilts of their swords, and Andor feared that this could really land him in trouble if he was delayed even more. So he squared his jaw, facing them both with as much calm as he could muster.

“What is it that you want? I really need to get to the Council and I’m late already.”

“Oh, but don’t be such a killjoy. We are only having fun.” Roiben causally brushed an invisible speck of dust off his tunic while his brother shifted his stance beside him, eyeing Andor with a put-on attitude of boredom.

“The night shift is long and boring. And it’s not our fault that you are late,” Kando said with a lazy shrug.

“Listen, I do not have time for your games. Find someone else to bother.” Andor made to push past them, but suddenly saw himself faced with two swords being simultaneously pulled out of their sheaths, the scraping sound chasing a chill down his spine.

“Well, in that case we must ask you to hand us your weapons.” Roiben’s voice was now devoid of all humour.

“What? But why? I am not planning on attacking anyone.” Andor raised his hands in an appeasing gesture, the sight of two gleaming swords pointing at his face making him decidedly uncomfortable.

“It does not matter. We have our orders.” Roiben brought the tip of his sword to hover above Andor’s heart with casual ease.

Andor swallowed, trying not to let his uneasiness show. How he hated their games and the way they always seemed to get to him.

“So better make this easy for all of us and hand them over,” Kando added, sheathing his sword, his brother following suit. Apparently they knew that this was as much fun as they would get tonight. “Otherwise I’m afraid that the Council will have to meet without you.”

“Fine,” Andor loosened a sigh. It definitely wasn’t worth picking a fight with a member of the royal guard, let alone two of them, especially not tonight. He removed his bow and quiver and handed them over to Kando, albeit reluctantly. They still stood as one before him, Roiben holding out his hand and crooking his fingers. “All of them.”

“Are you serious?” Andor grumbled as he pulled out his hunting knife from the back of his belt and dropped it in Roiben’s waiting hand.

“Of course we are serious.” Roiben grinned, twirling Andor’s knife between his fingers and Kando added in a deadpan voice “when have we ever been known not to be serious?”

“We’ll promise to take good care of your weapons.” Kando lovingly ran his fingers over Andor’s bow and quiver.

“Well, off you go. You don’t want to be late, do you?” Roiben sent Andor on his way with a smack on his back, before turning away with his brother.

“There better not be any arrows missing when I come back!” Andor called after them.

“Or what?” The low rumble of their laughter echoed through the entrance hall.

* * *

If he had been late before, now he was very late and the elders might very well reprimand him just for the fact that he had made them wait for an unduly amount of time. He crossed the pillared entrance hall with its polished marble floors and gracefully rising columns. Courtiers and servants were going about their business, notwithstanding the late hour. Dressed in the royal livery, same night-blue as the guards, they were slipping in and out of numerous hallways and chambers, moving silently as their duty commanded them. 

Finally he turned into the long corridor at the end of which the Council Hall was situated. Andor took a deep breath to calm his rattling nerves, his hand reaching to adjust his bow and quiver only to realise that they were not there. He then slid his hand into his pocket to close around the phial, which he was sure the Council would ask him to hand over immediately. He strode along the quiet hallway, the moonlight streaming in through the tall glass-stained window panes to his left. Muted pastel colours washed over the white floor, the stone cool beneath his bare feet, sconces and chandeliers along the walls adding a golden hue to the air. A steady trickle of voices could be heard from behind heavy oaken doors to his right. The amber doorknobs glowed like intricate jewels, contrasting pleasantly with the rich brown wood. He passed a set of magnificent tapestries, each of them depicting a different area of Elysse, as well as several splendid paintings of Valantes in all its flamboyant glory. The king surely had good taste, no doubt about that, Andor thought to himself slightly amused, and the vast collection of beautiful things to be found not only here but in most of the city never ceased to amaze him, even tough he wasn’t a little boy any more. Still, if he was very honest with himself, he quite preferred his more modest home in the forest to this royal pomp, but of course a king was a king and his palace needed to reflect the power he represented. At the end of the long hallway a much larger set of black double doors with silver carvings came into sight. Behind them lay the Council Hall, a vast hall only used when all members of the council would come together. There was another smaller hall adjacent to it, providing a more intimate setting for personal meetings, resembling a large sitting room, equipped with comfortable armchairs and a massive mantlepiece. But today, everyone would be in attendance and the formal hall would serve as stage for the official completion of Andor’s task.

Two members of the king’s guard flanked the massive set of doors and a glance at one of them revealed him to be Drakon, Gilren’s father, no amount of impassiveness on the elf’s face being able to conceal the vile contempt simmering in his eyes.

“Did you get lost on the way?” Drakon cocked his eyebrow, the words dripping with mockery. No doubt he had been the one responsible for Roiben and Kando being stationed at the entrance of the palace. He was his son’s equal not only in looks but also in nastiness. They both shared the same ash-blond hair and cold grey eyes, but Drakon carried himself with an air of authority and he preferred the subtle way of emotional torture over the blunt physical violence his son Gilren was so apt at.

Andor only threw him a belligerent glance. He refused to take the bait and chose to ignoreDrakon’s presence altogether, after all, tonight he was here on matters that were of great importance to the entire realm and Drakon in his position as head of the King’s Guard would not be foolish enough to hinder Andor from fulfilling his duty. Andor pulled himself up to his full height, which was impressive enough even for an elf, fashioning his face into the most stoical attitude he could muster, and fixed his gaze on the intricate carvings on the door leafs, entwining flowers and leaves, the gleaming silver a beautiful contrast against the polished black wood.

And then he waited, willing his heart to slow down its frantic beat, pushing away the image of Rose that had suddenly crawled into his mind. He would not think of her eyes, the way they had looked at him. He would forget her mouth, how her lips had felt on his. He would ban her scent of honey from his thoughts.

_Murderer_ , a whisper in the back of his head. He pushed it away too, deep down where it grew silent, until he felt nothing at all. A black and empty heart. Cold and ruthless, that’s what he was, nothing more and nothing less. That’s exactly who he needed to be right now.

Following a silent command from inside the hall, the guards pulled open the heavy black doors in a wide swing, the vaulted dome of the Council Hall looming like a voracious mouth before Andor.

“Good luck,” Drakon hissed under his breath, a warning served with an oily smile.

Andor stepped over the threshold without so much as batting an eyelid, his head held high and his fingers wrapped tightly around the phial in his pocket. The doors closed behind him with a dull echoing thud. He could feel the reverberations slithering through the stone floor and creeping into the very tip of his toes.

Then all eyes were on him, and the world went silent except for the deafening roar of his blood.

 

To be continued…

floranocturna, November 2018

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this chapter with more insight into the beautiful city of Valantes, Andor's past, a host of new characters, including a set of trickster twins and Gilren's father Drakon. The nastiness seems to run in the family...  
> Stay tuned for the next chapter, where Andor will finally be facing the Council^^!
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or comment! Thank you so much for reading :D


	11. A King of Old

“You’re late!” The king’s harsh words resounded through the Council Hall, filling every corner and crevice with their reproachful echo. Andor kept his head high, meeting the king’s gaze, cold and calculating even from the distance of his ornate seat. Xanthos sat at the far end of the oval shaped table, which stood prominently in the middle of the hall, all council members assembled around it. But Andor’s defiance lasted only a mere moment and then he lowered his eyes to the ground, bowing low as it was expected of all subjects in the presence of their monarch. 

“Your majesty, please forgive me.” Andor fixed his eyes on the rectangular stone tiles before him. Bringing up an excuse would only fuel the king’s anger, so he refrained from doing so and waited in silence. He only hoped that Xanthos was not in one of his moods today. Unfortunately for Andor, he was.

“You have the audacity to make me wait,” the king drawled. “I could have thrown you into my dungeon.”

Xanthos’ words hung in the air like a storm cloud, a chilling frost settling around Andor. He stared at his toes, trying to ignore the cold creeping into his feet from the cream coloured stone beneath. He knew very well that this was no empty threat. There had been poor souls cast into the darkest dungeons for lesser crimes than being late.

“Is there nothing that you have to say for yourself?” Xanthos broke the unsettling silence, while Andor pieced together a response that would not get him into even more trouble.

“Your majesty,” he said, his voice steady despite his nervousness, “I am afraid that there is no excuse for my tardiness, so I will not present you with one, but I can assure you that you have not been waiting in vain. And shouldn’t the realm’s safety merit a few moments of your time?”

It was a bold statement, quite likely even foolish, the longer he thought about it, but it was too late to stir a different course. Andor might have been more than a little frightened, but there was one thing he despised even more than the king’s foul temper, and that was to grovel before him. He was in the king’s service, but he was not one of his courtiers, and once he had this gotten over with, he would be free again to leave all this behind, his forest home awaiting him.

“You have a quick tongue, Andor, son of Olear, and are certainly more sure of yourself than whatmany might consider wise.” Andor could sense Xanthos’ shrewd gaze assessing him as the king paused for effect. “But I quite like your boldness and considering today’s auspicious occasion I shall be forbearing with you and temper justice with mercy.”

The tension in Andor’s shoulders lessened as he slowly raised his head.

“You may approach!” Xanthos urged Andor to step forward with a careless flick of his hand that seemed nearly too frail to hold the impressive collection of heavy rings adorning it.

The Council Hall lay in all its grand, but slightly oppressive atmosphere before him. Even the high vaulted ceiling with a multitude of elaborate chandeliers could not conceal the fact that this was a place of grave decisions and unpleasant discourses. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Andor steeled himself for the fact that besides the Council, he would be facing the king himself. Not only had he angered him already by his tardiness, but Andor could tell by the way Xanthos lounged in his chair, that he must have downed a cup too many before the meeting. His coal black eyes were slightly glazed over, his sallow skin appearing like paper stretched too thin over his prominent cheekbones. The golden crown rested heavily atop his head, a tad askew, his grim face framed by thin strands of greyish brown hair. Draped around his shoulders he wore a thick dark brown cloak with a trimming of fur along the edges, hiding whatever illustrious piece of clothing he might wear beneath. His long and bony fingers were tightly wrapped around a silver-chased goblet, encrusted with sparkling emeralds and sapphires, all vying for attention in the flickering candlelight. 

There was no doubt about it, Xanthos was a monarch to be feared and a force to be reckoned with, although Andor thought that he distantly resembled a vulture, perched in his grand wooden chair, ever vigilant and ready to strike. He had been their king for as long as Andor could remember and apparently planned on keeping it that way. Never had he taken a wife and therefore there were no heirs to compete for the throne. Of course, as an elf he was blessed with immortality, so perhaps Xanthos was simply counting on the fact that he would be able to remain in power for an indefinite amount of time.

None of this really mattered at this very moment. Andor stood at the opposite end of the large table, willing his face into an expression of calmness he did not quite feel, and then his eyes went to the striking woman standing by the king’s side and overlooking the hall with an innate sense of authority that made her appear more regal than Xanthos in all his kingly attire. Serande was her name and not only was she the king’s confidante, but being a gifted Seer, the Council often consulted her in matters of great importance, valuing her wisdom and prescience. She was a lady of ageless beauty, with skin of ebony, almond shaped eyes of deepest brown, her full lips and her eyelids heavily painted with gold. She wore a headdress fashioned of golden beads as well as a flowing gown in gold, all of it complementing the dark complexion of her skin, a stunning symphony of black and gold. Though she seemed to gaze at Andor with benevolence, her face betrayed no emotion. From her observant eyes nothing could be hidden, so Andor reminded himself to be on his guard, lest his innermost secrets might be exposed.

Despite the Council’s meeting being a matter of grave importance, the sight of the Elders around the table was indeed a colourful one as the emissaries of all six regions of Elysse were present. Only two of them were elves, namely the representative of the Forest of Ilaros, Lessindra, a kind woman with fiery red hair, bouncing in abundant locks around her heart-shaped face. Her moss coloured gown enveloped her curvy body in the most becoming way. She flashed Andor a quick smile and a twinkle of her hazel eyes. Eldoran was sitting beside her, representing the city of Valantes. His facial features were sharp like those of a hawk, sleek steel grey hair and a simple black tunic accenting his stern appearance. He eyed Andor with an expression of polite indifference. Being Drakon’s older brother, Andor had not expected anything more friendly from him, but at least he did not see any open hostility on display.

The ancestors of two of the other members might have once been related to the elves of Ilaros, their pointed ears and humanoid features suggesting a faraway kinship, but whatever ties they could have had, were now long forgotten. One of them was Marante, the emissary from the Plains of Ardan, her lithe body with long limbs as flexible as the blades of grass of her homeland. Even the colour of her skin seemed to have a viridescent sheen to blend perfectly into the sea of green. She was of slightly shorter stature than the elves, wearing a colourful pastiche of clothes, adorned with what appeared to be trophies of her hunt. Marante’s thick black hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a leather ribbon and her long pointed ears tapered to a delicate furry tip. Her people excelled in the art of stealth, which made them the embodiment of hunters, their rows of razor sharp teeth only emphasising the air of danger.

Rakhis beside her appeared quite unfazed by Marante’s slightly intimidating appearance and even seemed to have been pulled from an animated conversation with her when Andor arrived. He was the emissary who had come all the long way from the coastal regions of the Emerald Sea. His shiny mahogany skin contrasted pleasantly with his tufty short hair that was as white as sea-foam, his eyes of deepest turquoise being the most striking feature of his handsome face. He wore a sparkling tunic that shimmered like the ocean beneath the summer sky. There was a graceful elegance to his fluid motions and, despite his alleged age of more than a few millennia, he conducted himself with a kind of swagger that women seemed to find quite irresistible. What distinguished him and his people from the elves was the fact that they had webbed fingers and toes as well as gills in their necks, which enabled them to breathe and move underwater just like above ground.

Opposite him sat Nuala, who could not have been any more different from Rakhis’ beautiful and elegant appearance. She was as old and withered as the Mountains of Kendar from which she hailed. Bent with age and a wrinkled skin that appeared grey and cracked like the weatherbeaten peaks, Nuala seemed much like an ancient rock who had come alive at the dawn of time. But her gaze was keen and alert and one was well advised not to underestimate her powers, which couldstrike like a sudden thunderstorm. She might be ponderous in movement, but her mind was as quick and nimble as a sparrow and her wrath could be terrible. Beside her sat the last council member, Velos from the Marshes of Tharûn, a thin and ghostly figure, his completely bald head reminding Andor vaguely of an oversized variant of the well polished dragon egg he had once spotted at the market years ago. Notwithstanding this peculiarity there wasn’t really anything comical about his appearance. His skin was nearly transparent, shifting its colour from sand to greenish brown or even a pale yellow. The most unsettling part though were his misted eyes that appeared to be veiled by a constant fog and made them difficult, if not impossible to read. Just like Nuala, he did not speak much and if her voice was raspy like two stones grinding against each other, then his resembled a wheezy breath of someone being slowly strangled to death. Both were none too pleasant sounds, so Andor was rather grateful for them being mostly silent listeners.

* * *

Andor directed his gaze back to Xanthos, but apparently it was Serande who was going to conduct the procedure, as Xanthos only signalled to her with an idle wave of his finger to commence. Serande nodded and opened her arms in a welcoming gesture, the eyes of everyone turning towards her, except for Xanthos, who kept his focus on the goblet, pensively turning it around in his hand.

“Today marks an important day for all of us here in Elysse, for we have been granted yet another forty years of peace,” she began, her mellow voice somehow evoking the comfort of a crackling fire on a cold winter’s eve. “We have put our trust in this young and valiant elf and he has proven himself worthy. Only a few possess the strength this task demands from them and Andor has fulfilled his duty as was expected from him.” She tilted her head in acknowledgement, her golden earrings jingling, flecks of bright light dancing against her ebony skin. With her gaze resting on the council members she continued. “Our people may once again live in safety, undisturbed by the atrocities of the human world. All living beings, the trees, the flowers and the creatures that live within the forest of Ilaros and beyond its borders may grow and dwell in peace until the next sacrifice shall be demanded.”

Andor listened quietly and it seemed to him that she must surely be speaking of someone else, a brave and fearless hero, not someone like him, whose guilt was slowly beginning to eat away at his conscience.

“But now let us not delay, for the enchantment must be sealed tonight,” Serande concluded her speech and walked from her place beside the king towards a small alcove along the side wall of the hall. In its midst stood a small and slender stone column hewn out of limestone rock, fashioned to resemble a tree, its top opening up like entwined branches to embrace a shallow basin of polished silver. It remained usually empty, but Serande now poured a crystal clear liquid into it from a silver carafe. With a small nod she bade Andor to come towards her. He could feel the eyes of everyone seated at the table boring into his back, but his own eyes were on the basin and the unperturbed mirror of liquid silver glittering within it.

For a moment Serande gazed silently at the basin, then extended her hand towards him. “The phial, please.”

Andor pulled out the small glass bottle from his pocket and placed it carefully in Serande’s outstretched hand, a sudden feeling of emptiness overcoming him. He had not realised that he had been holding on to it so tightly, as if letting go meant, losing everything he still had of Rose. Not that it mattered, or at least he tried to convince himself that it did not matter. He watched Serande with apprehension as she opened the phial, her gaze keen and observant as she did so. Softly spoken words accompanied her every motion, her voice never rising beyond a whisper. She dropped the open bottle into the stone basin, the glass quickly sinking towards the bottom of the crystal clear liquid. Serande placed her flat hands on top of the liquid and Andor couldn’t help but stare as the hazy outline of a face began to appear like dense mist, slowly taking on the unmistakable features of the girl he had sought to banish from his mind, before she would take root in his heart.

“Her name?” Serande asked, her fingers trailing an elegant pattern across the liquid’s surface. “You must give it to me now.”

“Rose,” he said after a moment of hesitation. He felt like he was being stripped of the last bond thatstill tied him to her.

“Rose,” Serande repeated after him. The instant the name had left her mouth the image in the basin became crystal clear. Andor felt a sharp stab in his chest when he saw Rose’s sky blue eyes widened in terror and her mouth opened in a silent plea, unheard by anyone, but Serande, whose eyes remained fixed on the image until it began to blur and a bright flash of light illuminated the basin. Serande’s face glowed while she kept repeating her incantation and her gaze seemed far away, as if she were observing everything that had happened earlier in the glade.

Andor had to fight the urge to look away, as he did not wish to witness his deed another time, but he knew that now was not the moment to show weakness, so he kept his eyes on the basin until the light faded and only the image of a singular white flower remained. Serande’s eyes focussed on the small bud, petals still tightly folded into a tiny orb.

“Rose,” she called loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear, her finger gently prodding the liquid’s surface, “unfurl your petals and bloom, so your soul might join the others in your eternal bed of flowers.”

The tiny flower obediently unfolded its petals, as if kissed awake by an invisible sunrise.

“May the spirit of the Ancient One bless this sacrifice, a name willingly given and a soul forcefully taken.”

Serande quickly closed one hand around the tiny flower and with other she held up the phial. “Rest now forever at the Heart of the Forest, Rose,” she said, plucking the flower’s image from the liquid and letting it glide slowly into the phial. Rose’s name appeared in small letters on the glass the moment Serande sealed the bottle. She turned towards the table, the phial raised high over her head, facing all the council members and the king.

“It is done. The deed is done.” A smile dawned on her face, exposing a row of pearly white teeth and slowly, one after the other, the council members began to applaud, first Eldoran, his stern features having not shifted in the least, then Lessindra beside him, seeming a bit reserved about clapping too loudly. Marante did not hesitate in showing her approval, a devious smile exposing the tips of her sharp teeth, while Rakhis beside her raked his hand through his hair, obviously relieved that this procedure had now come to an end, his applauding a mere display of politeness. Nuala on the opposite side had resorted to knocking on the table instead, the irregular rhythm echoing loudly through the Council Hall. Velos leaned forward in his seat, his ghostly skin more translucent than ever, an unreadable gleam in his foggy eyes. Finally Xanthos rose his hand, instantly silencing everyone in the hall. He gave Serande a wordless nod and she proceeded to walk with the phial towards the back of the hall to a portion that remained obscured from Andor’s view.

Andor loosened a long breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding. He had gotten through this, had made it to the end without showing any weakness. He buried his hands in his pockets to hide the slight tremble in his fingers, the only indication of the inner turmoil that still raged within him.

* * *

“Very well,” said Xanthos after another long sip from his goblet, breaking the silence, “now let us hear what Andor himself has to tell us.”

So, this was not the end then, Andor thought to himself rather disheartened, and returned to his earlier position facing the king at the end of the table to begin his recollections.

He laid out the entire procedure from the moment he had arrived at the glade, how he had filled the phial, added the powder and then had sat down to wait. He described the first appearance of Rose with the least amount of emotion possible, pointed out the fact that she willingly gave him her name, and that it took him only a few moments to persuade her to drink the liquid. He decided to skip the mentioning of the kiss, as it all of a sudden felt too intimate to divulge in front of the entire Council.

In the meantime Serande had resumed her spot beside Xanthos. “You did an honourable thing, Andor,” she said, “and you can rest assured of our gratitude as —,”

“Yes, yes, we know all that already,” Xanthos cut Serande off, “but I am sure that there is more that he can tell us.” A sly smile spread on the king’s face when he addressed Andor. “Did you use anything else besides your words to lure the human in? I must insist that you do not hold back any aspect of your deed.” Xanthos leaned forward, the cruel lines in his haughty face tensing.

“No, there is nothing else,” Andor was quick to answer, but the impatient drumming of Xanthos’fingers on the table and the curious eyes of the council members made Andor reconsider.

“I— kissed her.” The words had only just left his mouth, when he regretted them. This tender moment was supposed to be his alone.

A murmur went through the crowd and Xanthos was not the only one to nod appreciatively. “You did indeed?” There was a gleeful sneer on his face. “And what else did you do?” He raised a thick eyebrow, his piercing black gaze assessing Andor.

“Nothing. That was all.”

Andor felt the king’s eyes burning like hot coals into his own. “Are you quite sure that you are not hiding anything?”

“Yes, of course!” His words came out harsher than what he had intended. He softened his tone, bowing his head in deference. “I did nothing else, your majesty.”

“So you are telling me that you had this,” Xanthos flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture, “according to human standards sufficiently attractive woman at your disposal and you did not touch her at all?”

Andor's eyes widened in disbelief at the king's obvious innuendo. He did not like the direction this interrogation seemed to be taking.

“No, of course not! I only did my duty, but I am not a violator!” it broke out of him, his right hand balling into a fist. Breathing suddenly became difficult.

“So honourable!” The king barked a laugh. “A shame though. I was hoping to hear a detailed recollection of how you had your way with her.” He took his goblet and leaned back in his chair, lazily swirling the contents inside, while observing Andor’s reaction with sardonic delight. Serande tilted her head towards Xanthos, whispering something into his ear, but he waved her away impatiently.

“Your majesty, I dare to say it is clear that Andor has nothing else to tell us. We should let the boy go,” Rakhis now raised his voice, languidly waving a webbed hand in Andor’s direction, his handsome features slightly perturbed by the king’s words.

“The deed has been done,” Lessindra joined in, straightening herself in her chair, “there is no need to extend this longer than necessary.” She briefly smiled at Andor, but Eldoran laid a hand on her arm, raising his eyebrows. “It is not our place to go against his majesty’s words.”

“You are indeed well advised not to do so.” Xanthos shot them a silencing glare and then turned back to Andor, who was still struggling for words.

“Your majesty, I wouldn’t—, this isn’t—,” Andor broke off, too stunned to cloth his thoughts in words. He opened and closed his fist several times until he felt that he could breathe again.

“Don't look so appalled. It has been done before and I'm sure the human woman would have been more than willing. They always are compliant when pretty elves are involved.” Xanthos took another sip of wine and licked his lower lip. Andor stared at Lessindra, hoping for another word from her, but she only sat in silence with no intention of stopping the king from where he was going. He felt the urge to bolt from this increasingly embarrassing scenario, but of course he knew that this was impossible, unless he wished to spend the night in the king’s dungeons. He would have to endure this until Xanthos was done with him.

“That's why we chose you. No woman can resist you, they say, be it elf or human, and you yourself just helped prove the point.” Xanthos waved a heavily bejewelled finger at Andor. “A kiss alone was enough to make her fall for you. Pity that you didn't take advantage of her while you had the chance.”

“Your majesty,” Andor's voice was hoarse, “I don't think it would be appropriate—,”

“It matters not what you deem appropriate!” Xanthos slammed his fist on the table, sending his goblet tumbling, red wine spilling across the wooden surface like blood. Lessindra quickly pulled back her hands, while Rakhis froze in his seat, Velos’ skin colour turning a pale green that nearly rivalled Marante’s, who eyed the rivulet with interest as it trickled lazily through the wooden crevices towards the edge of the table. Eldoran appeared to be holding his breath, while deciding if to intervene was going to cost him his head, but then his face returned to its usual indifferent expression. He must have come to the conclusion that trying to deviate the king’s debaucherous mind wasn’t worth the effort for neither of them.

“Humans are weak! They are born to die from the moment they leave their mother’s wombs. They are a disgrace and you didn't have any scruples when we sent you and you better not start having some now!” the king bellowed and Andor’s stomach clenched as Xanthos unleashed his hateful tirade.

“For centuries humans have tried to be like us and when they found time and again that they couldn't, they pushed us back, tried to decimate us. They strut about as if they were the unquestioned rulers of this earth with their hideous faces, hairy bodies and their mayfly life. If I would not despise them so much I would pity them for what they are. Spreading like vermin, multiplying like rabbits, they took away our land, forcing us into hiding. We have to stay permanently underground, while long, so long ago, we could amble wherever we pleased. Live where we wanted, take humans as we pleased, steal them away for our pleasure.” His mouth widened to a crooked grin. “And I promise you, it will be like the old days again. You will see. We will not stay like this, we will conquer the earth again for us! And then the ground will be soaked with their filthy mortal blood!

“Humans have destroyed and disrespected the earth long enough, defiled nature, cut down the woods, crushed the flowers. It is only rightful and just that they shall give their lives to rebuild what they have broken. They are more useful and pretty as flowers anyway. Don’t you agree, Andor?”

A low rumble of approval went through the row of council members and with a sick feeling in his gut Andor had to admit, that those had been exactly his thoughts when he had run his fingers along the petals of Rose’s flower. Hadn’t he called her beautiful? And hadn’t he displayed exactly thetype of arrogance Xanthos prided himself of?

But the king wasn’t done. A wild gleam was in his eyes when he leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin, ignoring the puddles of wine blooming beneath his elbows.

“Let me tell you one thing Andor, and listen well, so you don’t forget it again. Humans are gullible and easily swayed. You saw it for yourself, didn't you? Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it, enjoy the feeling of complete power you had over that human?” He raised one hand, clenching it into a fist, as if he were crunching said human with his bare hands. “Enjoy the sight of her miserable mortal existence being reduced to a mere flower.”

“I—,” Andor seemed to have lost his voice.

“Answer me!” Xanthos ordered and Andor could feel the beseeching gaze of Serande on him.

“Yes,” Andor said, resigned and thoroughly disgusted by himself.

Xanthos cocked his head sideways. “Louder my boy, so we can all hear you!”

Andor's eyes were simmering with barely contained rage, but he held the king's gaze.

“Yes, your majesty. I did enjoy it.”

Shame washed over him at the admittance of the truth. Xanthos slapped his flat hand on the table once more, his lips curling into a sly smile. This time his goblet went toppling to the floor with a loud clatter.

“That's more like it. I knew you had it in you. You are no weakling, you’re a hunter after all, and what else but game was this worthless mortal woman to you?”

Andor wanted to mention the softness of her lips, the sparkling blue of her eyes, her scent of honey and wildflowers. The blonde locks of her hair, the black shirt that was slightly too big for her petite body, the strange blue trousers, the brown shoes that seemed too rugged for her feet. Her voice that was sweet and trembling with excitement beneath the layer of fear, the unexpected passion with which she had kissed him back. She was all that and so much more, but he would never be able to find out. Of course he said none of it.

“She was nothing else to me.” The words coming from his mouth tasted bitter. They were nothing but a lie.

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the hall and while some faces shone with glee and satisfaction, none uttered a single word, not when Xanthos had worked himself into such an angry mood. But Andor did not care anymore, he wanted to only get away from all this.

“Your majesty, may I take my leave now?” Andor finally dared to ask, when he saw that Xanthos had sunken back into his chair, a look of disappointment on his face when he found his goblet gone.

“Yes, yes, you may go.” Xanthos dismissed him with an annoyed wave of his hand, like one would shake off a fly. The king did not even glance his way. “More wine!” he barked and a thin servant sprang from behind the king’s chair obediently to his side, providing him with a newly refilled goblet.

Andor did not hesitate and swiftly made his way to the massive black doors, parting unbearably slow before him. He bowed once, turned on his heel and was gone from the hall.

 

To be continued…

floranocturna, January 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you have met Xanthos in person, tell me what do you think of him? He was admittedly a lot of fun to write, so much wicked evilness! Poor Andor though, if he thinks he's done with this, then, think again, my boy XD...
> 
> You've also met the six council members: Lessindra, Eldoran, Rakhis, Marante, Nuala and Velos as well as Serande the Seer. She will be an important person to keep an eye on, just sayin'... and Rose, well it seems that her fate has been finally sealed.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter^^!


	12. A Request

_“I guess the truth is that the truth is of complex design.”_

(Sleeping At Last: Pacific Blues)

 

The doors had barely clicked shut behind Andor, when Drakon’s voice came drawling from the side “Why in such a hurry?”

Andor did not bother to look at him. “I am done. That is all!” he called over his shoulder. His words were clipped, his composure nearly in shreds, but he needed to hold on, keep his calm until he had left the palace behind. Not even the city’s relative anonymity could make him feel safe enough to let go all that threatened to suffocate him. He rushed through the hallways, ignoring the curious stares of guards and servants alike as he passed them. Everything felt so horribly wrong, the threadbare veil of righteousness not nearly enough to conceal the cruelty of his deed. Even the thought of his little brother and his friends could not wash away the guilt that seeped into his heart like venom. How was he supposed to carry his success like a victory banner, when there was so little honour to be found in tricking an unsusceptible human into freely offering up her life? He felt rather ashamed of his own ability, the daunting ease with which he had completed his task. The words of praise from Xanthos were an unwanted stain he wished to be cleansed of.

“Wait! Don’t you want your weapons back?” a familiar voice boomed from behind. Andor stopped dead in his tracks, realising that he was about to storm from the palace without having collected them.

He turned around and the twins approached him, wearing their identical smirks, Andor’s bow and quiver tucked under Kando’s arm, Roiben casually twirling Andor’s knife.

“Yes, of course,” Andor said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, preparing himself foryet another trial in this never ending night, but to his surprise they handed him his weapons without another word.

He frowned, his gaze darting from Kando to Roiben, expecting this to be just a new variation of an old trick.

“So, you are just going to give them to me? What happened to you both wanting to have fun?”

Andor took the quiver from Kando, quickly counting the arrows before strapping it to his back.

Roiben shrugged. “I guess we’ve had our share of fun tonight already.”

Andor only managed an attempt at a crooked smile. Perhaps they had indeed gotten tired of their own sport or they pitied him. Either way it did not matter, as long as it meant that he would not be delayed any further.

“And we didn’t take any of your arrows.” Kando raised his eyebrow.

“I’m just making sure.” Andor took his bow and adjusted its fit as he slung it around his shoulder.

“Don’t stretch your luck though. We can still change our minds.” Roiben dangled Andor’s knife out of reach.

“I have no doubt about that,” Andor was quick to respond, and even quicker in catching his knife before it would hit the floor when Roiben dropped it without a warning.

It was high time that he got away from them, before they would recover their appetite for making him taste another one of their unsavoury pranks. He stored the knife in his belt and with the briefest of muttered thank-yous he was gone.

* * *

Andor left behind the palace grounds, speeding down the narrow and deserted alleys leading towards the southern gate of Valantes, eager to trade the confines of the city for the forest’s familiar embrace. The night wind rustled through the branches of Atunar above, the leaved dome painting a flickering web of inky black dots on the stones. That was when he felt a slight shift in his surroundings. At first it seemed to be only a disturbance in the air, until it became clear that this was no mere bodiless wind. From the corner of his eye he noticed a dark shape flitting through the shadowy alley behind him. Someone was following him, quietly and with persistence, not close enough to be a threat, yet slowly catching up despite Andor’s long stride. There were no footsteps to be heard, but he was no fool. A master of stealth himself, he could sense the presence of another being even before it would show itself. He increased his pace without breaking into a full run, keeping his eyes ahead, his ears intent on picking up anything unusual that might give away the nature of his pursuer. Only the lonely barking of a dog sounded in the distance. The ominous figure melted from one shadow to the next like liquid darkness. It drew closer, invisible eyes boring into his back. Looking over his shoulder he saw fleeting specks of gold dancing through the ink black night. If this was a weapon, he better be prepared. Andor reached around for his knife, tightening his grip around the hilt as he pulled it out slowly from his belt. His bow would be of no use if it came to an attack, as this was going to be a fight of close combat, something he thoroughly detested. The unbidden image of Gilren flashed through his mind and a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Andor slowed his pace, knife levelled in front of him, his eyes scanning every doorway and empty alley around him. All appeared quiet and deserted, but Andor knew very well that ominous silence led more often than not to an unexpected attack. A powerful presence encircled him like a storm cloud and it made his skin prickle in nervous anticipation. He stopped in his tracks, raising his knife higher, the silvery blade glinting as he turned around slowly. Not far off there was the remote squabble of a couple arguing, the sudden banging of a door putting an end to their bickering. Andor willed himself to remain calm, despite the little hairs on his neck standing on end, and then he finally called into the deceptive emptiness around him. 

“Who is there? Show yourself!”

His own echo was the only answer he got, but then Andor could make out the faint rustling of cloth. He whipped around, his knife ready to strike.

“What do you want?”

“A moment of your time,” answered a familiar voice and then Serande emerged from the shadows like an angry thunderhead.

“You?” Andor took a step back, letting his knife sink, hoping that the darkness might conceal the embarrassment dawning on his face.

“Yes, me,” she said slightly out of breath, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She glowered at him like a mother would at her child that had attempted to slip away from his daily bath. “I have been trying to catch up with you, but you kept running away from me as if you had all the dragons of Kendar breathing down your neck,” she chided, eyebrows raised, one foot tapping on the ground. “You were so eager to leave the palace, that I had no choice but to follow you like a thief in the night. And believe me, chasing you through half of Valantes is not my idea of a quiet night. You are much too quick on your feet for a respectable lady like me.”

If he had been embarrassed before, now he did feel indeed like a misbehaving child. This whole task had clearly left his nerves more wracked than what he had initially dared to admit to himself. He was beginning to see threats where there obviously were none.

“I—I am sorry,” he stuttered, quickly stowing away his knife. “I did not know it was you. I just wanted to get away from—,” he broke off. “I just want to go home,” he corrected himself, his shoulders sinking.

“I know this is what you want and you shall be able to do so very soon.” Serande said, her angergradually ebbing away. “And I promise not to keep you for long, but there is something of great urgency that I need to converse with you; not here though. I would like you to briefly accompany me to my house.”

Andor blinked and looked at her with disbelief. “Now? Can this not wait until tomorrow?” He really wasn’t keen on extending his stay in Valantes any longer than necessary.

Her gaze suddenly turned to stone. “No, it cannot.”

Andor swallowed his reply and with it the urge to keep arguing.

“Fine,” he said, trying to not let his resignation show too much.

“It is not far from here as you know and I will prepare one of my very special teas for you. Does that sound promising enough?” she added on a friendlier note, her golden headdress swaying slightly as she tilted her head.

“Yes, it does.” Andor nodded. He didn’t really have a choice after all. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Serande resided in a surprisingly modest home relatively far away from the palace, close to the southern edge of Valantes. She preferred to be able to easily venture into the forest or amble along the banks of the Oros. No one had questioned her choice, even if there had been some raised eyebrows among the influential and wealthy, frowning at the fact that such a high ranking official should wish to remain removed from the bustling life at the king’s court. 

Although this wasn’t his first time at Serande’s home, he barely had any recollections from when he had been there a handful of times when he was a little boy with Meril, his foster-mother, who used to visit Serande once in a while to replenish her stores as a healer. What he most remembered was the fragrant smell of uncountable herbs, which were spread on basically any surface of her cosy home, be it table, wall or shelf. Bundles of sage, thyme and rosemary hung from rafters, jars with rowan and elder berries stood besides pots of earthenware filled to the brim with dried plants, whose names he did not know. There were baskets full of mushrooms big and small to be found in the corners, a hearth surrounded by a vast collection of pots and pans of brass and copper making up the centre of the main room.

He hung his bow and quiver on a hook near the entrance and followed her until she pointed at a square wooden table along the back wall. With a flick of her hand Serande lit the fire and reached out for a teapot dangling from a hook above the fireplace and got to work.

“Why don’t you make yourself at home, while I get us some nice tea going?”

Andor didn’t have to be told twice. He sat himself at the heavy wooden table, while she busied herself at the stove. The sudden warmth and aromatic smell took him back to his childhood days and he felt his body involuntarily relaxing, giving in to the soothing ambience of a home that had such an unhurried air to it. After some rummaging she approached him with two mugs, placing one on the table in front of him with an inviting gesture, before taking a seat opposite him, her own cup in her hands.

Andor loosed a long breath and stared for a moment at the steaming dark liquid before him, watching the tendrils of white smoke curl up into the air. He wanted to say that there was nothing more that he could give the Council. He had told them everything, answered all the king’s questions, even the most devious ones, laid out every last detail they had pried out of him. Even the kiss had been dissected until it appeared nothing more than a technical link in a chain. He wished that he could have wiped the smugness off the king’s face when he had cornered Andor into admitting that he wasn’t so much different from the king and his views about humans.

“Please, drink. It is one of my special teas and I am sure it will make you feel better.” Serande’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She inclined her head slightly, her golden earrings jangling with the movement.

He wordlessly reached out for the cup, bringing it to his mouth, a scent that was both spicy and sweet reaching his nostrils. For a brief moment the image of Rose drinking from the phial flashed through his mind and he was about to set the cup down again, but he did not want to offend Serande, not when she was the most influential member of the Council and the king’s closest advisor. Getting on her wrong side was not something he was keen on. He took one sip, the beverage flowing through his veins like liquid sunshine. A golden light seemed to have been kindled inside his chest, keeping the darkness that had settled deep down at bay.

“This is very good,” he said after he had downed half the cup, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

A smile played around Serande’s mouth. “Thank you. I am glad you like it. It is one of my more elaborate recipes and I am rather proud of it.”

She pulled out a small pouch from her dress and pushed it across the table towards him with her fingers. “Here, this is for you. I do not usually give any of this special tea away, but for you I will make an exception. And should you ever wish for more, you may visit me any time.” She flashed a row of perfectly white teeth at him, a string of polished pearls surrounded by a beautiful face of ebony.

“Thank you,” he said, stuffing the pouch into his pocket. He wrapped his hands again around the cup, the comforting warmth seeping into his skin, when Serande leaned forward, folding her hands on the table.

“You did well today, Andor, the king and everyone at the Council, including myself, we are most pleased with your performance.”

Andor only nodded silently. This was something that he’d rather forget.

“But you have heard this surely more than once already today. And I did not bring you here for more praise. There is something I must ask you, then you are free to go, as I am sure you are most eager to do.”

“And what would that be?” His fingers tightened around the mug, the liquid swirling gently inside.

“This girl, Rose, did she have a book with her?”

For a moment Andor was at a loss for words.

“A book? No, she didn’t,” he was quick to answer.

“Are you quite sure of it?” Serande insisted, a glint of disappointment in her eyes.

“Yes, I am sure. She did not have anything with her. But why would this be important?”

“That is strange indeed.” Serande toyed with one of her golden rings as she seemed to stare at a point on the wall behind Andor’s shoulder, completely ignoring his last question. “You are quite certain that she did not even have a bag with her? Human women rarely walk around without them, especially if they are away from home.”

Andor traced his thumb over a tiny chip along the edge of his mug, the unevenness inciting him to repeat the motion as he searched his mind for any detail he might have missed. He recalled the moment Rose had stepped into the glade, the way she had looked around slightly confused, then approached the fountain to drop—

“She did have a bag with her!” he exclaimed, his thumb pressing down on the crack. “I remember it now, a brown bag. She dropped it beside the fountain, before I approached her. Perhaps she had a book in there?”

A small smile quirked around Serande’s full lips. “Now this sounds more promising already. What did you do with the bag?”

“Nothing, I left it there.” The smile on Serande’s face faded. “I am sorry. I did not think it was important,” Andor added apologetically, shifting in his seat.

“You could not have known,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, the fingers of her other handtapping an impatient rhythm on the table. “Well, there’s nothing for it. You shall have to return to the glade and fetch me that bag.”

“What?” Andor froze in his seat. “I can’t. I have a tournament to attend tomorrow!” He suddenly was most eager not to disappoint the children.

“I assume that retrieving a bag will certainly not take you all day, so you will be able to go to that tournament and bring me that bag.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she brought her cup to her lips to take a sip.

“But why do you need me to do this? Can you not send someone else?” Andor could feel his insides recoil at the thought of having to return to the glade once again.

“Because you have been chosen for this mission.” Serande peered at him over the rim of her mug.

“I already did what I have been asked to do.”

“I am asking you for one more thing. Go back to the Heart of the Forest and bring me Rose’s bag. Then your task will be seen as completed.”

“But—”

“I want you to do this for me, Andor! It is non-negotiable.” Serande cut him off with unexpected determination. “And one more thing. This will stay between us. You must not speak to anyone about it, not your family, not your friends. Have I made myself very clear?”

“Yes, very clear.” Andor nodded grudgingly and refrained from asking why she insisted on such secrecy. After today nothing really surprised him anymore. It was best not to provoke her wrath, lest he wished to get himself into more trouble.

“Good,” she said, her golden lips parting in another bright smile as she rose from her seat. “I knew that you would not disappoint me.”

With those words she led Andor to the door, where he picked up his bow and quiver, and she observed him silently as he adjusted his weapons. She was nearly as tall as Andor himself and standing closely beside her he caught her looking at him with an unsettling intensity. Things ancient and unfathomable lurked in the depths of her deep brown eyes, and for a moment a thousand questions threatened to pour out of him, but before he could say anything she laid her hand on his shoulder and said: “Do not torment yourself, Andor. Though you may not understand it now, what you did today was for the greater good.”

“That is what everyone keeps telling me,” Andor said rather tersely.

“I know you have doubts, but one day you will see the truth for what it is.” Serande gave his shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. “But now you should indeed go home. Get some rest. You have an important day tomorrow.”

“So it seems.” He smiled wryly. “Until tomorrow then.”

“Farewell Andor,” she said, leaning against the table as she watched him go. “May the blessings of the Ancient One be with you,” she added quietly, but Andor had already slipped through the door, leaving her blessings behind.

* * *

Andor waisted no time to head straight south towards the pathway that would take him home, the only place he wanted to be right now and if he was fast on his feet he could reach it in little more than an hour. For once luck seemed to be on his side and he was able to make it out of Valantes and into the woods without any interference. Everything was peaceful and quiet, only the forest’s polyphonic buzzing accompanying him along the way. Still, his heart was heavy and dark thoughts circled in his mind like a flock of ravens, Serande’s request filling him with a renewed dread that no amount of special tea could take away. He hadn’t dared to ask more questions about this book, but he could not help but wonder what Serande wanted with it and why she was so intent on keeping this a secret. The trees around him grew taller and the branches denser, the singular hooting of an owl breaking the silence. There was a nearly noiseless swooshing of wings close by and then high above him the nightly hunter was gliding soundlessly through the sky. Whatever prey it had set its eyes upon would soon meet its swift death by a set of painfully sharp talons. When he spotted a circle of pines ahead, their treetops poking into the dark canopy like spearheads, he did feel a distinct jolt of relief. Home was finally close. The trees stood proud and solemn like watchful sentinels, sheltering in their midst a small glade, glamoured into a state of eternal summer, no matter the time of the year. It did not take him long to decide that a short detour would not do him any harm, but might actually provide him with a moment of much needed relaxation after a day that had gone from hopeful to dreadful in a matter of hours.

Leaving the pathway behind, he cut through the bushes and the dense undergrowth until the vegetation suddenly opened up and where ochre leaves had been littering the ground, now lush green grass stretched before his eyes like a fluffy rug of dark emerald beneath the night sky. The smell of warm earth filled his nostrils and when he looked around there was not a fleck of autumn around him. A peaceful pond lay in the middle of the oval shaped glade, which was small enoughto be seen in its entirety. It had become one of the favourite spots for Andor and his friends to meet, which meant that the place was usually filled with merriment and laughter, but today he was rather grateful to have found it empty. He was not looking for company, but for peaceful solitude. The only sound to be heard was the low hissing of the purple dragonfrogs, who had chosen this place as their abode. Andor had always thought them curious creatures with a pair of round and bulging eyes sitting atop their near triangular heads, the occasional spark spitting from their pointy snouts. The absence of scales was compensated by a pair of wings, enabling them to fly if they wanted to, something that didn’t happen very often. He supposed that they were just being lazy, mostly floating around in the water, their webbed feet making them excellent swimmers.

He strolled towards the pond, leaning his bow and quiver against a boulder, his knife following suit. Andor loosened the drawstring of his tunic and shucked it over his head in one fluid gesture, relishing in the draft of fresh air on his bare torso. He rolled his shoulders back to relieve the tension that had been holding him in an iron grip. With a few quick motions he untied the knot of his leather belt to peel himself out of his trousers, dropping them onto the ground beside his discarded tunic, until he stood naked at the edge of the small pond. The water lapped at his toes, the lazily murmuring waves luring him into their welcome embrace of oblivion. A balmy summer breeze caught in his hair, brushing over his skin like a gentle caress while he stared at the inky black surface and the net of glittering jewels cast into it by the mirroring sky above. Andor waded in until the water reached up to his thighs, his feet sinking into the soft and slushy ground with every step. He scooped up a handful of water to rinse his face, hoping that it would both rid him of the king’s deviant words and silence the voice of guilt. Again and again he splashed water on his face, his fingers rubbing vigorously over his forehead and cheeks, anger and frustration mingling in his fervent motions. Tiny droplets sat on his brows like minute gems, thin rivulets of crystal clear liquid chasing each other down the long column of his throat and over the planes of his chest. At last he raked his fingers through his hair, combing back the slick black strands that clung to his shoulders and his back.

One pair of dragonfrogs continued their nightly hunt, unfazed by his presence, their occasional hissing cutting through the humming silence. Andor watched them as they sped through the water, swift as arrows, wings tucked in tightly, and for a brief moment he envied their blissful unawareness of what it meant to be burdened by a nagging conscience. He took a deep breath and before Rose’s blue eyes could surface again in his mind, he plunged headfirst into the water, diving deep until the rushing of his own blood drowned out every other sound and the world around him was nothing but blackness.

To be continued…

floranocturna, January 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andor will have to return to the Heart of the Forest yet one more time. We will see what awaits him there. I hope you've enjoyed Andor's skinny dipping in the pond, because I surely had a nice time mentally undressing the pretty elf *grins naughtily*.


	13. Nebula's Tree

Andor had indeed emerged refreshed from his bath, but the expected relief had not come. The heaviness around his heart was sticky like tar and there was no water that could purge him from his guilt. Perhaps all he needed were a few hours of sleep, a brief escape from reality which by now resembled a nightmare. He forced himself into a faster pace, the rows of trees beside him blurring into a hazy wall of darkness. The night was pitch black, but he knew his way home like the back of his hand. Wide ferns crept up on him on both sides, the sweeping leaves brushing his arms in a comforting way as if they too sensed his unrest.

The pathway began to widen until it fanned out into three smaller ones, all of them running off into the darkness of the woods. Andor kept to the one on the right, his feet gliding over the carpet of moss and root with unwavering precision. The gurgling of a nearby brook filled the silence around him with its soothing melody, calming his heartbeat with every step he took.

Through the thicket ahead a wide tree trunk came into sight, the house sitting amidst its branches nearly obscured by the jet black night. It was one of the oldest oaks in the southern part of Ilaros and it had appeared to Andor as a stroke of luck when the former owners, a childless couple, had finally decided that it was time for them to set sail across the Emerald Sea and explore the lands beyond. Being regular clients of Olear, they had known Andor since his childhood days, and were more than glad to have their house pass into his hands. If they had been aware of the fact that he might not have had the means to call a house his own, or they had been simply glad not to see their home fall into ruins, he never knew.

It was a modest sized house and had been in dire need of repairs, but with the help of his friends Andor had managed to turn the ancient and slightly run down treehouse into an abode that he could call his own with no small amount of pride. There had been only one catch. The house wasn’t as uninhabited as it had appeared at first sight. 

Andor climbed the set of narrow stairs that wound around the tree trunk like a ribbon and led up to a near circular platform. The oak’s sturdy branches held the wooden structure like a set of untiring arms. The house itself consisted of several parts in different shapes and sizes, all of them nestled tightly against the tree. They appeared to be growing out of it like a family of mushrooms hugging the trunk in a fierce symbiotic embrace. Curved walls with round windows that were anything but regular, a slanted roof atop covered in a thick rug of moss, all gave off an aura of ancientness that was both awe-inspiring and inviting at the same time.

* * *

Andor pushed open the door, the familiar creaking announcing his arrival like the tinkling of a door bell. He closed it with a soft thud behind him, leaning against the warm and solid surface, his head falling back, and exhaled a long breath. Finally, he was home, safe from all harm, out of the grasp of king and council. Of course, the one shadow that haunted him with eyes the colour of a brilliant summer sky stubbornly refused to be locked out at all.

As Andor hung his bow and quiver on the hook beside the door, a ripple ran through the air. He wasn’t as alone as he had hoped to be.

“Did you enjoy that bath of yours?” The croaky words floated above him as a soundless pair of wings soared on top of his head and then a grumpy bundle of mottled brown feathers landed inside the hollow of the tree trunk that made up the centre of his house.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said without looking at his winged cohabitant and reaching for a pair of crystal orbs that rested on the shelf beside the door. “And how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?” Andor threw the owl a withering glare and then turned his attention to the two small globes that lit up at his mere touch. A warm and golden light flared up inside them and with a gentle push from his hands he sent them floating upwards, where they hovered in mid air, bathing the house in a comfortable amber glow.

“It’s not my fault that we owls are blessed with soundless wings.” With those words the bird took off again, spiralling lazily around the tree trunk. Andor pulled a towel from a rack along the wall, ducking instinctively as he headed towards the large table on the opposite side of the house. He let himself sink onto one of the wooden chairs and proceeded to dry his still damp hair.

The owl landed on the table, her talons screeching over the surface as she skidded to a halt in front of him. She quickly regained her poise and smoothed down her feathers, which had turned into a deep brown to blend perfectly with the colour of the table. Only the feathers around her eyes remained coal black and made her appear as if she were bespectacled, her unblinking eyes fixed on him.

“Stop staring at me like that. It’s irritating.” Andor worked through the lengths of his hair, trying to ignore her yellow eyes that seemed to gleam with the intensity of two little suns.

“Irritating?” came the hooting answer and then there was a sharp tug on his towel. “I think you are the one who is irritating.”

Andor pulled the towel from her beak and threw it over the backrest of his chair, suppressing a sigh. “I am not in the mood for your banter, Nebula, so I would appreciate if you would just take off. Don’t you have some hunting to do?”

“Did your task not go well?” She hopped closer, completely ignoring his question and bobbing her head sideways from left to right, until her eyes stood in an almost vertical line.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He rose abruptly and strode towards the small area behind the table that made up the kitchen. It consisted of a narrow hearth, a set of wooden cupboards, cabinets and shelves as well as some pots and pans hanging from hooks above. A sophisticated escape mechanism built into the roof allowed for the safe use of fire. It was one of the things of which his friends were most proud of, Caladon having put his wits to work and Bergil his technical skills.

Nebula let out a disapproving hoot. “Did something unexpected happen?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, I didn’t.” Andor pulled out Serande’s pouch from his pocket and dropped it inside a small wicker basket that hung suspended from vines, which grew along the walls and around the bolts supporting the roof.

“So everything went according to plan. You did not die and are also completely unharmed. Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.” Nebula puffed up her chest, lazily rearranging a few feathers. She appeared quite satisfied with her own cleverness, the staccato of her talons as she stalked across the table resounding through the silence.

“I may not be dead or injured,” Andor said, bending down to open one of the cabinets in search for something to eat and shutting it again when he realised that he wasn’t even hungry. “But I’d still rather be alone.”

He rose again and leaned against the closet behind him, crossing his arms in front of his chest and meeting the owl’s unblinking stare.

“Wallow in self pity as much as you want.” Nebula clicked her yellow beak indignantly, turned away from him and hopped onto the windowsill, her feathers darkening against the night sky. “Suit yourself. I am going to enjoy the rest of the night on my own. And don’t expect me to bring you something, because I won’t.” She spread her wings in a dramatic gesture, flapping them twice before taking off and then she was gone.

Andor watched her soar into the night sky until her shape was nothing more than a dark speck eaten up by darkness. He wasn’t usually this grumpy with her, had even grown fond of her slightly bossy attitude. After many fruitless arguments with the eloquent bird, he had eventually resigned to accept her claim of being the original owner of his tree, had even caught himself referring to it as Nebula’s tree. Most of the time her company was not all that bad and she seemed to have developed a certain affection for him, which reflected in her bringing him the eventual dead squirrel or mouse as a token of friendship. Since he definitely didn’t feel inclined to add tiny rodents to his menu, he usually buried them quietly around the tree while Nebula was out hunting. Chameleon owls were not only known for being highly intelligent, blessed with exceptional longevity and capable of speech, but also easily offended, so Andor made sure not to hurt her feelings, if it could somehow be avoided.

* * *

Now that he was finally alone, he strode over to his bed that stood on the other side of the house, the length of it curved to fit perfectly against the rounded wall. A collection of arrows in different lengths and designs were hung on display on top of the bed, the occasional drawing pinned between them. Beside it stood a small square desk with a chair, a round window on top of it. Andor sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He rubbed his fingers over his forehead and then raked his hands through his hair, the prospect of sleep the only thing on his mind, as he began to loosen the drawstring of his tunic. 

Slivers of moonlight poured through the small window and onto his desk, pooling on top of a blank piece of paper that lay lonely and untouched like a white leaf on the surface. Andor’s eyes widened in surprise, as he couldn’t remember having left anything lying around on his desk, especially not a piece of paper. He was most careful to keep his belongings organised. A sudden breeze nearly sent the paper adrift, and Andor jumped up from the bed to catch it, before it would take flight and disappear into the inky sky. Holding it in his hand, it felt like a voiceless plea, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to listen. He had silenced that voice, shut away even the whispered memories.

Andor sank into the chair, still hesitant about breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago. He did not need his past to come pouring in again, not when he was struggling to get through his present. But when he stared at the empty paper in his hands, he saw Rose’s face as it faded right before his eyes, her features evaporating until only the blank canvas remained. It was all it took to make him toss aside his concerns. He might not be able to give her back her life, but he could make sure that her face would not be forgotten.

From the lowest drawer he pulled out a large rectangular wooden box, plain and without embellishments, the familiar smoothness of its polished surface evoking a strange mixture of elation and dread inside him. He placed it on the desk in front of him and clicked the metal lock open with his thumb. The lid flipped upwards and revealed an assortment of drawing utensils, chalks in red, white and black in different shapes, pieces of charcoal, quills made of feathers and reeds in various sizes and diameters, as well as several jars of ink. Andor exhaled a long breath as his eyes took in the sight. Everything looked as if it had just been put away after a drawing session, neatly organised and ready to be used once more, colours craving to be turned into life.

For a moment his fingers danced hesitantly atop the contents as he pondered his choice. Usually he would draw a quick sketch with outlines in pen and ink, but this drawing called for soft lines and subtle shades, so he settled for a piece of ochre chalk, perfect for achieving just that.

Andor placed the paper in front of him, lighting another small crystal sphere that hovered above the desk with the tip of his finger, and got to work.

His brows were furrowed in concentration as he sketched her face, careful to remember every single detail. The chalk in his hand flew over the paper with swift strokes, outlining the curve of her neck, the straight slope of her nose and roundness of her ears, her wavy hair as it fell over her cheeks. A smile curled his lips when the image began to take shape, white turning to reddish-brown before his eyes. He placed shadows for added depth, his tempo now slow and deliberate, his fingers moving almost tenderly as he highlighted her eyes, recreating the way they had looked at him when he had leaned in to kiss her.

When he was done he stared at the portrait, his fingers tracing the delicate sweep of her brow, lingering on the sensual curve of her lips for another beat before he tore his eyes away, unable to look at her face without his emotions threatening to overcome him completely. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore that this had been such a good idea. Had he wanted to draw to forget or to remember?

With a frustrated sigh he dropped the paper on the desk and turned towards his bed. He didn’t even bother to remove his clothes and simply threw himself onto the mattress, hoping that the Ancient One might have mercy on him and gift him a deep and dreamless sleep. Perhaps his pleas were heard, or it was simply another benefit of Serande’s tea, but Andor drifted off almost instantly into a sleep that finally granted him a few hours of reprieve. Tomorrow awaited him with yet another challenge.

 

To be continued….

floranocturna, February 2019

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Who knew that Andor isn't just a hunter, but also an artist? I hope you have enjoyed this chapter with its new addition Nebula, the chameleon owl.  
> Please leave kudos and/or write a comment. That would make me really happy!


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